


How to Charm the Wizard of Your Dreams

by almaasi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Agender Castiel, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern, Autistic Castiel, Baseball, Bisexual Dean, Cinderella Elements, Come play, Coming Out, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crossdressing Dean, DCBB, Dean in Panties, Demisexual Castiel, Epic, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Dean Winchester, Illustrated, M/M, Mildly Submissive Dean, Other, Phoenixes, Road Trips, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Teacher Castiel, Teacher Charlie Bradbury, Teacher Dean, Teacher Sam, Team Free Will, Temporarily Female Dean, Trans Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 104,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: A Supernatural/Harry Potter fusion, disclosing an epic (yet intimate) tale about friendship, self-acceptance, sexuality, and gender.Freshly graduated from Jinxes Wizarding Academy in Arizona, Dean and Castiel are immediately hired as teachers. As knowledgeable as Dean is when it comes to teaching Charms, it seems he still has thing or two to learn about how damncharminghis Potions Master friend can really be. Over the years they share their lives and their love, and we see their story unfold in a collection of special moments. But they each keep a secret. Castiel is autistic. That one is fairly straightforward - but Dean’s relationship with gender seems far more complicated...(This was written in 2015, before Rowling... did... that. This fic makes no references to any lore beyond the original HP books. Trans characters belong here!)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 46
Kudos: 181
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Non-Chronology

**Author's Note:**

> **Minor pairings:** Background Charlie/Gilda and Missouri/Joshua, one mention of Dean openly dating 5 girls at once during school years.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Castiel referring to autism as ‘abnormal’, and one mention of him believing falling in love is ‘normal’. Cas tries to ~cure~ his autism (but stops before ‘succeeding’). Swearing; one use of a homophobic slur. Brief mentions of historic colonialism, Muggle wars and massacres. Explicit sex scenes (M/M and F/M; all Dean/Cas), unprotected oral sex; comeplay. One brief mention of the possibility of Dean becoming pregnant (which, for the record, does not happen). One distressing scene where Dean is unintentionally but forcefully outed to his friends; and another where he’s outed to the school. (He takes back agency and happily comes out of his own volition before the end.) Contains triggers for second-hand embarrassment.
> 
> This is [my 9th DCBB fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=27&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=dcbb&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi)! This is, however, the only one not written within the year it was published.
> 
> I wrote this in 2015, intending to explore my relationship to gender for the first time, but kept it back for five years thinking I’d done it wrong. Since then I’ve learned a lot, come out as nonbinary, have recently started using they/them pronouns, worked to set up spaces for transgender and nonbinary fan communities to connect and educate, and over the years have written so many fics on the subject of gender and featuring gender nonconformity that I won’t even attempt to count them. I came back to this fic draft in the midst of the Rowling-pocalypse, and realised that, in part thanks to my betas, I did fine in the first place.
> 
> All aspects of this fic are maybe not going to come across as flawless to anyone with more knowledge than myself, because I am still learning and will _always_ be learning. However, it’s a time capsule to a younger Elmie and a younger (pre-Trump, pre-Brexit, pre-Covid, pre-Rowling) world. Personally, I find the simplicity freeing. My main goal in writing this fic was to see if I liked writing about these themes. And I did. I’ve wanted to share this for so damn long, and now I finally feel like I can, and I _should_.
> 
> I realise this fic comes at a weird time for both the HP and SPN fandoms, where one’s creator was revealed to be a giant TERF and the other was just proven to be queerbaiting for years, but I hope... I really hope... this fic could be a balm for some of that sting. These worlds and these characters belong to us now, and we’ll continue to make them our own.
> 
> **Trans characters belong here. Queer characters belong here. Neurodivergent characters belong here. And they’ll live past the end of the story, and are allowed to be themselves, and be happy.**
> 
> Thanks to my betas — in 2015: [Libby](https://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/) (I would have been lost without you), [Victoria](https://theimportanceofbeingvictoria.tumblr.com/), and Kayla, and in 2020: [Katie](https://crab-full-of-rocks.tumblr.com/), and the lovely [anupalya](https://anupalya.tumblr.com/). Extra thanks to my dear friend [Crow](https://crowtoed.tumblr.com/) for checking the section about the school’s Indigenous founders for me, and helping me include more nods to the Diné culture throughout the story without veering into appropriation. Any remaining mistakes are mine!
> 
> Art by [sapphirecobalt](https://www.instagram.com/sapphirecobaltarts/)! I only embedded two pieces at the start and end, so please check out the other [two artworks on Instagram HERE](https://www.instagram.com/p/CH82MSjHqqi/?igshid=d3nztf9hc4fq) and leave Izzy some love. ♥
> 
> Elmie x
> 
> TIME FOR SOME QUEER MAGIC, FRIENDS. LET'S GO.

**{ PART I }  
**

It takes forty-seven minutes to fly between the roof of the Greyhound bus station in Phoenix, Arizona, and the entrance of Jinxes Wizarding Academy.

Dean Winchester knew this because he once timed the trip on his digital wristwatch, eight years, four months, and six days ago. And he knows how long ago he timed it because his friend Castiel kept a count of the days since they first arrived at Jinxes, when they’d ridden in separate carriages carried by teams of phoenixes.

They hadn’t been friends then. They hadn’t been friends until exactly seven months and two days ago, on the very last day of term of their final school year, when they were called into the Principal’s office together and each offered teaching positions at the school.

Castiel mentioned his mental calculations late one evening while he was busy mixing a Hiccoughing Solution for his magpie.

“You know what,” Dean said, handing Castiel a larger silver spoon before he asked for it, “thinkin’ back, the trip to Jinxes took longer than forty-somethin’ minutes. My watch stopped working when the quarry came into sight.” He smiled. “Man, I still have that watch. Keep it in the trunk at the end of my bed. Wonder if the battery leaked.”

Castiel looked up from his potion, squinting. “What’s a battery?”

  
**☆**  
  


Jinxes Wizarding Academy was – still is – an underground school. Miles and miles out in the red Sonoran Desert, there’s a rectangular dip in the ground, which looks like nothing from a distance. The closer you get – carried by phoenixes, obviously – the more the dip looks like a quarry.

It’s not really a quarry. It’s a pretend quarry.

Dean had to explain to Castiel what a quarry was. After eight years at the school, nobody had ever told him. It was a little sad, to be honest.

You know the way a castle reflects in water? It looks like it’s upside-down. That’s how Jinxes is. The door is at the top. The deeper underground you go, the further into the castle you get. The turrets and the spires are the deepest below the Earth, where the heat of the sun barely reaches. The sand on the top is level and scalding hot, but the best places in the castle are the turrets.

Dean was sorted into the house called Jinstem. From the moment he was sorted and he was shown the dorm rooms, he felt at home. The dorms were in the lowest turret, down a spiralling, spiralling staircase. The common room was alive with green plants – ivy and cacti and huge sweeping leaves, draped across every shimmering white wall, like a tropical greenhouse. But it wasn’t hot like a greenhouse. It was beautifully cool.

In the past, whenever Dean was too hot because he’d been out in the sun for hours, and he stepped barefoot into a shady room with smooth tiles under him, that relief was one of the best feelings in the world for him. But in Jinstem house, that feeling never went away. The relief and satisfaction was constant. Dean was always convinced it was impossible to breathe as easily as he did down there.

It was common knowledge to the folks in Jinstem that they were sorted into that house because their core value was _life_. Until he was eighteen, Dean wasn’t sure he agreed with that. Sure, he could relate to the jackrabbit mascot, given that his core values were food and attractive people. Girls, mostly. Sometimes... y’know, not girls. But that was it, that was all he cared about. Plus looking after his brother, and not flunking school. Nothing else mattered to him.

But then... he started to _get_ it. It wasn’t a face-value idea, loving life. It went deeper. Like a spiralling turret, the idea went down into him, further and further until he understood. To value life was to value everything. To love what he’d been given and to treasure what little he had. To give what he had to others who had less.

For someone who grew up with nothing to his name but his Ministry-funded Duelling robes and a standard-issue broomstick he didn’t really need, the idea of making himself _selfless_ could’ve been difficult, but somehow it never was. He was a Jinstem to his core.

Dean never once imagined himself becoming a teacher, but it provided him the purposeful rhythm of existence he always wanted. He could give what he had to others, and only gain. Every day.

  
**☆**  
  


Neither Dean nor Cas had had anywhere else to go. School was over; they had no families to return to.

To accept a post at the school and be granted a home for the summer provided relief beyond compare. And to stay _with permission_ in an otherwise empty school, with his younger brother and a new friend Dean’s own age – that was Dean’s dream come true.

Every other year, he and Sammy had been forced to hide out until everyone had gone home, and only then could they leave their hiding spots. The house elves kept them fed and watered all summer. The Winchester brothers maintained an understanding with the elves: if the elves didn’t tell anyone there were two boys living at the school year-round, then the brothers wouldn’t mention the elves’ overground baseball games to anyone. Baseball was _sacred_ to the house elves of Jinxes.

As great as Dean was at Charms, he kind of felt like it was his greatest achievement, teaching baseball to seventy-five house elves.

  
**☆**  
  


“Dean...”

Dean looked up at the sound of his name. Before him stood the other student— No longer a student, Dean reminded himself. They were _teachers_ now.

Dean closed the Principal’s door quietly, eyes on the other young man. “Yeah,” Dean said, without inflection.

The other man – what was his name, Castle? Casio? Like the calculators?

“I hope...” Casio swallowed. “I know that we’re... I – I mean, that is to say... If you want—”

“Wow, spit it out, man,” Dean said, surprised by the guy’s stammering. He looked so put-together – he wore a white shirt with a white cravat, covered by a gold-buttoned taupe waistcoat, topped with a cerulean blue blazer made of velvet. He looked like he’d taken lessons in eloquence ever since he was knee-high, so watching his mouth move around nothing and his cheeks flush and his eyes dart up and down... well, the mannerisms didn’t fit.

“Uhm,” Casio said, breathless. “I— I hope that we... you and I... could be friends. Acquaintances. Perhaps we could just nod if we see each other in the hall, I’m sure we’ll run into each other over the summer, what with us being the only teachers staying here—”

“Dude,” Dean said, staring at the nervous wreck in front of him. “We have nearly three months of vacation time to spend before the students arrive. Don’t know about you, but I’m not spending the whole slog with _only_ my brother if I don’t have to. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to play baseball.”

“No, I only play Quidditch,” Casio replied.

“Oh. Right. You were on a team, weren’t you? You were Keeper for Zunbyrd house? I think I remember cheering for you once.”

Under the candlelight of the clay hallway, Casio seemed to turn a brighter pink. His eyes were wide and he didn’t seem to be breathing.

Dean laughed, clapping Casio on the shoulder. Casio jumped.

“C’mon, man,” Dean grinned, twitching his fingers to indicate Casio should follow. “I think the house elves made us some lunch. Let’s save the baseball until you’ve got some chow in you, huh?”

He led the way, and after a few seconds, Casio swept after him.

  
**☆**  
  


Castiel hated Zunbyrd house. _Hated_ it. Everyone was so loud, and so eccentric, and _nobody_ kept a decent schedule. The yellow clay walls changed colours every other day, and someone would paint moving murals over the toilet seats which made him queasy, and there were too many parties.

Castiel just wanted to sit on his bed, draw the privacy curtains around himself, and count the items he still needed to order from his _Prize Potions_ magazine. He collected magical herbs, and he’d catalogue them by discovery date and then by usefulness. Sometimes the dorm room got too loud for him to concentrate so he’d go outside. He’d go up and sit on the sand to think, where students weren’t allowed to go without permission. Sometimes he’d watch the house elves play a ball game he could never figure out the point of. He never much liked sports.

Zunbyrd’s mascot was a male northern cardinal: a little red bird with a black mask across its face. Like all the house flags at Jinxes, the mascot was contained within a circle. The cardinal spread its blazing wings, a scarlet silhouette across a dark golden sun. It was meant to represent the _freedom_ that citizens of Zunbyrd valued.

It was true that Castiel valued freedom. But not _that_ much. He wanted his own freedom, but he didn’t give a flaming crap about anyone else’s. Everyone else needed to shut up. So long as Castiel could sneak up to the sand to get away, everyone else could do whatever they damn well pleased.

When Castiel was in his fifth year, he got so sick of everyone existing around him that he stole a broomstick and flew up into the sky, and just hung there for a while. He must’ve floated in that spot for half an hour. He came back sunburned later – that was just what happened to white skin under the Arizona sun.

People didn’t even notice his sunburn. People didn’t notice him a whole lot.

The next day he took the same broom and flew to the same spot, and he hung there again, watching tumbleweed float between the cacti, catching on lumpy grass before being swept up with another wave of loose desert dust. He liked to watch waves appear in the sand, and he liked to watch the Muggle city of Phoenix sparkle like a gem in the distance.

Castiel wondered if the Muggles knew why their city was called Phoenix.

The wizards were here first.

  
**☆**  
  


Jinxes was founded by three Indigenous women in the mid-fifteenth century. They’d wanted to name the school in the Navajo language, Diné bizaad, but at the time, international saleability was a big thing, so naming it in Latin seemed the best way to go. Every day, new people arrived from other countries – and there were wars, there were always wars – but while everyone else in their tribe were robbed or killed or both, the Álííl sisters kept their land.

Being witches helped, of course. They had their underground classroom to themselves; they mourned in peace.

Jinxes started small. Fifteen students, and none spoke the same language. Together they found new ways to communicate. There was a common tongue to be found, and they found it. Again they chose Latin, and over the years that followed, every spell was recalibrated so there were no longer five ways to make a plate float over the dinner table. In some ways, replacing the original language of a spell was a great loss to magical history, as the words were completely put out of use over time – but Latin was ultimately easier to teach.

Latin became the norm for magic users everywhere. People who spoke Arabic used Latin spells up until the early twentieth century. People who spoke German did away with Latin spells completely around the 1940s. That particular change was part of a bigger revolution, but nobody really liked to talk about that.

Those three Native women passed on from this world a long, long time before their teaching methods had spread worldwide. But they didn’t miss seeing their students become great witches and wizards of the era. Every person who graduated Jinxes had come to value something far greater than simply passing tests, or being good at something, or even having friends.

They valued life.

They valued understanding.

And they valued freedom.

  
**☆**  
  


Castiel became so good at flying his stolen broomstick that for the first time in his life, he wondered if he might enjoy Quidditch. Once he had decided, there was no stopping him.

Usually people tried out for the team. They’d sign up for a tryout and they’d show up on the pitch at a certain time, knock a quaffle around, do a few flips on their broomstick. But Castiel didn’t have the patience for that. He was fifteen; he didn’t have the patience for anything.

So, on game day, he borrowed a golden Zunbyrd uniform from the laundry, and he sat on the bench at the side of the quarry – which of course served as Jinxes’ Quidditch pitch too. Castiel waited until someone got knocked out and sent to the hospital wing, then he got onto his stolen broomstick and he took their place without anyone noticing.

Of course, that was completely against the rules, but the point was that nobody _noticed_.

By the end of the game, he’d kept eighteen balls out of the score hoops. Zunbyrd won their game, and there was no doubt it was thanks to him.

Nobody knew his name. Nobody knew who he was. The crowds tried to chant for him but the best they could do was “ _Go, Gold Keeper! Go-go, Gold Keeper!_ ”

He became known as The Goldkeeper. It stuck with him. Even nowadays, without any knowledge of why it was his nickname, his students called him Professor Goldkeeper. It was a good a name as any.

Castiel had never known his true parentage. He knew he was pureblood, but that was all. The invisible boy without a name became the one emblazoned with colour and named for his glory. Now his house had a love for him, he could begin to love it back.

He even put up with the moving murals on the toilets, because one time he noticed it read _Gold Keeper of Our Hearts_.

  
**☆**  
  


Although neither of them remembered exactly who they saw that day, Dean and Castiel’s first meeting happened inside a wand shop in the city of Los Angeles, hidden from the Muggles on the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street.

It was Castiel’s twelfth birthday, but he didn’t know that. His Ministry-appointed handler probably knew, but Ms. Raglan wasn’t a big talker. Records of his birth would be sealed until Castiel came of age on his seventeenth birthday.

Castiel had been waiting twenty minutes for his wand. There were too many other customers in the store, and the woman behind the desk couldn’t keep up. She was a cranky old hag with a New York accent, and an everlasting cigarette dangled from her wrinkled lips. She tutted and paced back and forth along the pristine rows of glass shelves, looking for a wand that would suit Castiel.

No luck.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

She told him to wait; he was low priority, and the other customers who came in wearing sunglasses and carrying handbags were more important. “Be patient,” she said, and then proceeded to ignore him for a further twenty-five minutes while she attended to everyone else.

Castiel didn’t want to be patient. He wanted to shout and maybe throw something at the lady, but his handler would send him back to sit in the car, and Castiel hated the way the car smelled. So he kept his mouth shut and clutched his hands together, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

Another boy came into the shop, and the happy tinkle of the door’s glass bell made Castiel’s hair stand on end. The boy was dirty and tired-looking, and he wore muddy sneakers with the laces undone. He was chewing something very sticky, very loudly – something which he didn’t seem inclined to swallow. Behind him trailed a smaller boy, dressed slightly better: he wore a clean plaid shirt, and his brown hair was combed. He whined something at the taller boy, presumably his brother.

“Shuddup, Sammy,” the taller boy said. “Hey, lady?”

“ _What_?!” the woman snapped, shoving a wand box back into its glass cubby. “Where are your manners, boy?”

“Left ‘em back at the shelter,” the boy said flippantly. He tugged a rag-eared letter out of the pocket of his jeans, and he looked at it, squinting. “Listen, I need a wand. I was told this is the place to go.”

“You’re not wrong,” the woman said, plucking out her cigarette and leaning over the glass table separating her and the boy. Slowly, she blew smoke in his face. He didn’t even flinch, or look at all surprised. Perhaps he was used to having smoke blown in his face.

“So can you get me a wand or not?” the boy said boldly.

The woman arched one of her grey eyebrows, a smirk curling the corner of her thin lips. “Depends. Can you pay for it?”

The boy hesitated, then glanced at his brother. Then he put his letter into his mouth, and reached into both front pockets of his jeans to pull out some crumpled green paper and dump it on the counter. A red sphere rolled out of the paper nest and tripped off the side of the desk, bouncing onto the marble floor. It rolled all the way over to Castiel, bumping his leather shoe.

The boy looked over, spying the ball. Castiel bent down and picked it up, examining it. He wasn’t sure what it was for. Balls were usually bouncy, but this one was too heavy. Almost like a rock.

“You gonna eat it or can I get that back?” the boy said, staring at Castiel.

Castiel stared back. “What is it?”

The boy frowned. “Uh, bubblegum. _Duh_.”

Castiel frowned deeper. “What’s bubblegum?”

The boy’s eyebrows rose, and he was about to reply when he was distracted by the wand lady clicking in his face.

“Hey! We don’t take Muggle money in here. Galleons, Sickles or traveller’s checks only.”

“It’s legit!” the boy cried, grabbing the green paper. “I swear on my life, it’s not stolen or anything! I scrubbed eighteen motel toilets to get this!”

The younger boy piped up behind him, “It’s true! He smelled like poop for four days because there wasn’t enough water in the shower.”

The woman sniffed distastefully. She said something, but Castiel only heard the muttering of his handler Ms. Raglan behind him: “Those kids oughta be in the system. How the heck did they manage to slip through?”

When Castiel glanced back at the boy holding the green paper, the boy looked like he was about to cry. “Please. _Please_. This is all I have. I can’t go to a normal high school, the social workers will take my brother away! I have to go to Jinkies! We took a train from Kansas, we can’t afford to go back! _Please_ , I wanna be a wizard. I gotta be a wizard!”

The woman had no pity in her eyes. “There are schools back in Kansas that’ll take mudbloods like you. You should’ve stayed where you were.”

Ms. Raglan tutted. “You know what, this has gone far enough. Hey. Hey, kid!”

The boy turned around, his eyes red-rimmed and wide, his freckles distended across his unhappy cheeks.

“What’s your name?” Ms. Raglan asked.

“Daniel,” the boy said.

“Last name?”

“Wesson.”

“Huh!” the wand lady said. She turned away and smiled pleasantly at a young couple with their daughter who had just entered the shop.

“I can pay for you, Daniel,” Castiel’s handler said. “But you have to come with me afterwards. I can take you someplace safe, where they have good food and hot showers.” Castiel felt Ms. Raglan’s palm touch his shoulder, and he pretended he wasn’t ready to wriggle out of her grip. What Ms. Raglan said was the truth: Castiel had grown up in the Ministry’s care. He didn’t like it much, but he got what he needed.

“Sure,” Daniel said. He swallowed. He turned to his brother and smiled tensely. “We’ll go with them. Won’t we, Sandy?”

Castiel’s lips parted. He was sure he’d heard Daniel call his brother _Sammy_ before.

Sandy— Sammy? Whatever his name was, he nodded eagerly. “Oh, definitely,” the younger boy said, with incredible innocence. “I’m _dying_ for a hot, nutritious meal. Maybe someone will adopt us and we’ll have a mommy and a daddy. We’ll get a real family, just like I’ve always wanted.”

Ms. Raglan shook Castiel’s small shoulder in a satisfied way, then finally let go. Castiel gave a small sigh of relief.

The wand lady was already finishing up with the girl and her parents: she’d picked out a neat white phoenix-feather wand for her, nine inches long. The air around her sparkled when she held it, and straight away everyone knew it was the right one. Castiel wondered why his own wand was so difficult to find in contrast.

When the shop was empty of customers but for Daniel, Sandy, Castiel, and Ms. Raglan, the wand lady gave a harrumph. “So, two wands then. One for the orphan and one for the mudblood. Perfect.” With a dark muttering, she began wandering the glass aisles again, pulling out boxes to look at the wands inside.

When another five minutes passed and no wand had been given to either Daniel or Castiel, Ms. Raglan cleared her throat. “Excuse me. It’s Mrs. Beetrie, isn’t it?”

The wand lady poked her head out from behind a glass shelf. “Eh?”

“You’ve pulled out nearly three dozen wands, ma’am. Is there a good reason you’re not letting these-here kids try them on for size?”

Mrs. Beetrie sniffed. “They’ll get their mucky hands all over them. These things are precious, you know. I’m not having their filth contaminating anything they don’t need to contaminate. You touch it, you buy it.”

Castiel felt Ms. Raglan tense up. “Then,” Ms. Raglan said, in a dangerous sort of voice, “I _suggest_ you find them their wands quickly, so they don’t dirty up your shop any longer than they have to.”

The wand lady must’ve sensed the hint of _I am legally allowed to hurt you_ in Ms. Raglan’s voice, because she gave no reply. She ducked back behind the shelves, and Castiel heard the rather hurried sound of boxes being moved and shifted and tossed aside.

At last Mrs. Beetrie emerged, red in the face. She slammed a golden wand box down on the glass counter in front of Daniel. “I got a funny tingle from this one. Feel free to try it. But if it’s not the one for you, _someone_ ’s doing the cleaning.”

Castiel chewed his lip, feeling as though he could do something truly horrible to Mrs. Beetrie if he was allowed. He didn’t need a wand to make things happen.

Daniel hesitated more than once before he picked up the lid of the wand box, shaking it loose. He peered inside, his pink lips parting in awe. “Cool,” he smiled. “It’s a real wand, Sammy, look.” Slowly, Daniel took the wand out of the box, shifting each finger in turn until he had a good grip.

“Wave it,” Ms. Raglan said kindly.

Daniel glanced over, then looked back at the wand. He waved it.

“OH!” Castiel shouted, pushed five feet away from Ms. Raglan by a giant green plant that grew from the floor in an instant. The marble underfoot had cracked, and now the mirrored ceiling was slowly snapping in jagged lines, pushed by the gigantic lily and its fat, wide leaves.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Castiel heard Daniel say.

Castiel covered his mouth and laughed.

“Quickly, quickly,” Mrs. Beetrie said, pulling out her own wand. “I’m not paying for damages again!”

Ms. Raglan helped Mrs. Beetrie shrink the plant down to a manageable size, and with a last swish, the lily was set into a flowerpot that had been Conjured out of nowhere. Mrs. Beetrie made quick work of sealing up the floor and putting the ceiling back to normal.

“There you go,” Ms. Raglan said, handing the bewildered Daniel his potted lily. “Congratulations.”

Daniel grinned. He put the flowerpot down on the glass table, and he stared at his new wand. “It has flowers carved all over it!”

“Sturdy willow wood, unicorn hair core. Willow’s... ah, unusual for young men,” Mrs. Beetrie added.

Daniel looked delighted. But then his smile fell, and he bit his lip, looking up. “Don’t you have one the same but without flowers on it?”

Ms. Raglan chuckled at the same time as Mrs. Beetrie. “Ain’t how it works, kid,” Mrs. Beetrie sneered. “Wand chooses the wizard. You got a pretty heart, or so it seems.”

That was the first pleasant thing Mrs. Beetrie had said to Daniel. Apparently she liked him better now she knew his wand looked nothing like he did. All the dirt and the scruffiness was only on the outside; to have such a gentle wand, he could only be pure of heart.

Daniel nodded, head down in acceptance. He looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t look like he was about to cry any more.

“I’ll get that for you,” Ms. Raglan said, stepping past Castiel to pay for Daniel’s wand. “Now, Daniel, you and your brother can wait here while we sort out Castiel’s wand.”

Castiel watched Daniel sweep all the green paper back into his pockets. From his mouth emerged a pink bubble, which grew and grew and grew, then it popped, and he ate it again. Castiel stared, dumbfounded by such a sight.

Muggle-born wizards were _fascinating_.

Castiel was still waiting for his wand. Ms. Raglan stood by the front desk, tapping her tanned fingers on the glass. When Castiel looked away from her and over to Daniel, he saw Daniel and Sandy sneaking towards the shop’s front door. Daniel held his wand box, and Sandy held the potted lily.

Castiel caught Daniel’s eye, and he shook his head in warning.

But Daniel raised a finger to his lips, and he mimed a hush. With an impish smile, he opened up the door, shoved Sandy out, then followed. They ran away down Hollywood Boulevard, and by the time Ms. Raglan turned around, they were long gone.

  
**☆**  
  


“So I guess this is where we’re staying now,” Dean said, nodding approvingly at the teachers’ common room. This common room looked nothing like Jinstem’s common room. Although he’d never been inside the Zunbyrd common room, Dean was sure this place looked nothing like that, either.

The teachers’ common room was decorated like a tapestry come to life, with earth-toned weavings hung from every orange clay wall. The largest over the fireplace depicted the layered Four Worlds from the Diné Bahaneʼ, in the traditional Diné geometric art style. The animated stitches representing the Air-Spirit People climbed from the smallest, darkest First World up towards the Second World, on their way to the Fourth World at the top.

All around the room, swirling patterns were painted on the wooden support beams. Plants hung from golden pots, and vines twisted along all the harsh edges to soften them up. A handful of giant cacti sat around the room in decorated pots, like living art.

“I liked the Zunbyrd common room better,” Castiel said, sinking into an armchair to test it out. He folded his arms and stared at the fireplace, which was empty and clean. “This place is dull.”

“All it needs is a few more plants,” Dean said, lifting up the potted lily he held. “Finally, I get my own room. First time in my whole life.”

Castiel eyed the lily suspiciously, reminded of a boy whose name and face he couldn’t quite recall.

“Anyway,” Dean said. “I’m gonna go pick out my quarters. Professor Moseley said the women are on the right, soooo I guess you ‘n me are on the left. You comin’, Casio?”

“Castiel,” Castiel corrected. Then he opened his mouth, thinking. “No,” he said. “You go.”

Dean shifted his eyes to the side, then shrugged, and he wandered off across the tatty flax carpet, trailing his trunk behind him. In a cage on top of the trunk, Dean’s little brown bat eyed Castiel, clinging to its metal bars as the trunk scooted past.

Castiel’s magpie hopped up onto his knee, watching the bat disappear down the staircase with Dean.

Slowly, Castiel petted his magpie, stroking down her sleek feathers. “So this is who I’ll be spending my summer with,” Castiel muttered. “He seems friendly enough, doesn’t he, Moosh?”

Moosh chakked once in agreement, then settled down under Castiel’s hand to take a nap. Castiel exhaled, leaning back in the armchair to rest. New bedroom, new friend, new career... He had a lot to process tonight.

  
**☆**  
  


Dean’s final timeslot on a Friday was always empty this year. He waited for the final five minutes, then he left his Charms classroom and he went all the way up to the Potions classroom, eager to see his favourite teacher. Dean was twenty years old now, but that didn’t make it weird that he still had a favourite school teacher. Castiel had been his best friend for one year, three months— No, wait... One year, five months...

It didn’t matter. It was a long time, and the two of them were about as close as it was possible to be.

Dean grinned, waiting outside the Potions classroom door, listening to Castiel finishing up his lesson, doling out homework. He spoke clearly and confidently, and Dean would never forget the days he’d had to teach Castiel how to project his voice. He’d come so far since then.

When Dean heard the scraping of stools being pushed back on the stone floor, he opened the classroom door and stood back to let the students out.

“Hey, Professor Winchester,” said one kid.

“Afternoon, sir,” said another.

“What’s up, how’re you doing, nice to see you,” Dean responded, eyes going from one student to another. “See you Monday. Hey, Richie, don’t forget to practice your swish-and-flick!”

“I’m doing it, Professor!” Richie called back, already halfway up the stairs.

Dean smiled as he entered the classroom. As it was near the top of the castle, Castiel’s Potions room was one of the few rooms with windows, and as a result, this room was nearly always blazing with sunlight. Gold beams twisted with a steamy haze which never dissipated, always brewed up by one of Castiel’s potions, or his students’.

A second-year student stood beside Castiel’s desk. Castiel leaned back against the desk, his waistcoat undone and his off-white sleeves rolled to the elbows. He smiled at the girl pleasantly, blue eyes sparkling in the caring way they always did.

But the girl was standing unbalanced, swaying on one foot; she twirled her black plait around one finger, and she spoke softly and giggled too much.

Dean cleared his throat, stepping up onto the dais where Castiel’s desk resided. Castiel looked up and smiled widely, eyes brightening. “Hello, Dean,” he said. “Saskia was just asking about the correct procedure for washing cauldrons.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said, forcing a smile. “Always pays to be cautious when it comes to the basics, right, Saskia?”

Saskia flushed. “Yessir,” she said in a breath. Her eyes darted to Castiel, then away. “I’ve gotta go, bye,” she said, and rushed off, grabbing her satchel from her desk. A ladle toppled off the desk behind her, but she was out of the door before it hit the floor.

Dean sighed, smirking as he shook his head. “Oh, she’s got it _bad_.”

“No, she’s very intelligent,” Castiel assured Dean.

Dean chuckled. “No, man. I mean— Y’know.”

Castiel bent to retrieve the ladle, eyes stuck on Dean. “Pardon me?”

“ _Y’know_ ,” Dean said again, pointedly. “She’s got a crush on you.”

Castiel dropped the ladle. He blanked for a moment, then he bent to pick it up again, putting it down on the nearest table with a shaking hand.

“She’s thirteen years old, Dean,” Castiel said in a small voice. “I’m twenty. She can’t—” He gulped. “Why would she—?!”

Dean laughed. “Dude, come on. Objectively speaking, you’re _smoking_ hot. Around that age all kids get a little weird around their teachers. Especially the hot ones.”

“ _I_ didn’t!” Castiel said, panicked. “I’m never weird around anyone!”

“Psh, sure you aren’t,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as he hopped off the dais. “Look, call her ‘young’un’ and ‘kiddo’ and she’ll get the message.”

Castiel mouthed “young’un” and “kiddo” to himself, committing the instruction to memory.

Dean grinned. “Enough talk, already. Let’s get on with this mystery potion of yours.”

“I wouldn’t call it a potion, per se,” Castiel said, leading Dean over to a cauldron on a side-desk hidden in the shadows, near a shoulder-height alcove filled with unlit candles. With a wave of his wand, Castiel set the candles alight.

“Here,” Castiel said. He pushed the cauldron closer to Dean. “Try that.”

Dean, curious, leaned close to the bulging black pot. He reached for a long spoon, and he scooped out a glob of whatever was inside.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Try it,” Castiel said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Am I gonna sprout furry wolf ears again?”

“No, it’s just food,” Castiel smiled. “I followed a recipe book.”

Dean snorted in amusement. This wasn’t the first time Castiel had tried cooking – last week he’d made _cookies_. Bad cookies. But cookies nonetheless.

Half-closing his eyes, Dean lifted the creamy yellow blob to his mouth. He licked it, but tasted nothing. Then he took a proper nibble, and rolled the substance over his tongue. “Custard?!”

“Does it taste like custard?” Castiel asked, taking the spoon from Dean. He put some custard in his mouth and smacked his lips. “It was meant to be crème brûlée.”

Dean laughed, folding back against the table, hands supporting himself from behind. He grinned at Castiel, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless at Muggle stuff, man. Jeez.”

Castiel licked the rest of the dessert from the spoon, then went in for more, lifting it to his lips. This time he was careless, and the spoonful slopped from his mouth, leaving a trail of creamy slime down the stubble on his chin.

Dean cleared his throat.

“What?” Castiel asked.

Dean wriggled a finger at his own chin. “You got a little schmutz.”

Castiel looked down, patting exactly where the custard wasn’t.

“No, no, there,” Dean said, tapping the other side of his chin.

Castiel missed again.

“You’re doin’ it on purpose,” Dean complained. “Look, it’s right _there_.”

Castiel frowned, jutting out his chin.

Dean wheezed. “Dude. Left. LEFT.”

Castiel threw his spoon back into the cauldron. “Dean, you’re meant to use your hand. On me. Here, look.” He took Dean’s hand with his own and made Dean smash his fingers right into the custard on Castiel’s face.

Castiel looked frustrated, but Dean was only baffled. He pulled his hand away, looking at the smushed pudding on his fingers. “What the hell.”

“You were meant to touch me,” Castiel said stubbornly. He huffed, then fished his spoon out of the custard. He hung around for a second, then shook his head and stalked off. “Go and wash your hands.”

Dean stared after him, mouth hanging open.

Seriously, what the _hell_?!

  
**☆**  
  


Their first summer together had been a blast. Two young men in their physical prime, one fifteen-year-old kid, seventy-five bored house elves and an empty castle? There was nothing keeping them from doing _anything_.

Dean and Castiel had never taught a day in their lives; they hadn’t yet learned responsibility. They were still only children themselves. Summer was for games.

Castiel learned how to play baseball. He didn’t play it well – he consigned himself to the outfield, where he could catch any balls that flew his way. He was used to things flying fast at his face. That was what made him a great Quidditch Keeper. The same task was harder on the ground; no broomsticks, no magic balls. Just running and dust and too much sun.

The sunburn was worth it, though. He’d never played a game where the outcome didn’t matter, where there was no pressure to win. Dean compared playing baseball with the house elves to playing a video game on the zen setting, which Castiel did not understand at all, but he knew what ‘zen’ meant, and he could agree with that.

Castiel even became friends with Sam Winchester. Sam liked to read books. Castiel liked to read books. They had a great deal in common and therefore found plenty to share. (Dean also liked to read books, but he pretended he didn’t, which took most of the fun out of sharing. How he ever began to thrive as a teacher remained beyond Castiel’s understanding.)

Over the summer Sam grew taller and wider, and though his voice had already broken, it became even deeper. Castiel would spend late evenings in the teacher’s common room with Sam, explaining to him what was going on with his body. As specialised as wizarding schools were when it came to learning magic, they weren’t so great at teaching students about puberty, or about sex. Castiel explained everything he could, but the whole time it felt like a farce for him. All he was doing was regurgitating what he’d been told in the Ministry’s sex-ed classes, and it didn’t take Sam long to figure out that Castiel knew next to nothing on the subject.

So Sam dug up a big, thick book on puberty, sexuality, gender and reproduction from the school library, and they read it together. Castiel felt like he’d never learned so much about himself, not all at once.

Dean came along and asked what they were talking about. Sam told him, and Dean guffawed. He joked. He always joked about that stuff, because he liked to think he knew everything there was to know about sex. Then he peered over their shoulders – and, slowly, the laugh went out of him.

“I thought all Muggle-borns knew about this stuff,” Castiel said, looking carefully at Dean when he pulled up a chair.

Dean shrugged a shoulder, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. “Guess my school wasn’t as thorough as I thought.”

A full week later, Castiel wandered into the common room in the middle of the night, craving a cup of tea. He found Dean curled up on his favourite armchair, the same leather-bound book open on his lap. He must’ve fallen asleep reading it, Castiel thought. His hand was resting on a diagram. Castiel slid the book away, and he looked at the page. It was a drawing of a naked woman, her skin labelled with scientific names. Castiel wasn’t surprised that this image was what Dean obsessed over; he talked about women a lot.

Castiel slowly closed the book, and he set it down on a tea table. He fetched a wool blanket and he draped it over Dean, just in case he felt cold. He seemed so delicate when he slept, Castiel mused. The hardiness in his voice and the brutal shift of his shoulders was all gone; he rested like a limp flower, petals closed up for the night.

Castiel went and got his tea, and he went back to his quarters. He still thought about Dean, though.

He passed Dean’s quarters as he headed down the stairs, and he peered through the open door. In the light from a low-burning candle, Castiel saw Dean’s white lily sitting in its pot on his nightstand.

All at once, Castiel realised the first moment he’d ever met Dean. Hollywood and Vine. August 14th, 2004. _Daniel and Sandy_. The day they both got their wands.

A full seven years later, their fake names were still fresh in Castiel’s mind, as the memory had barely been revisited since that day in August.

Dean and Sammy.

Castiel smiled.

He liked their real names better.

  
**☆**  
  


Dean was about to become a fourth-year student when Sam got his wand. The wand was supposed to be paid for by the Ministry of Magic, but Dean insisted on paying out of his own pocket. Belated birthday present, he said. They used the money the Ministry provided to throw a little private party, just them and the house elves. Knowing their past and empathising with them, their handler very courteously kept the true nature of their expenditure off the record.

See, after years of avoiding adults, Sam ended up becoming a ward of Jinxes. He was a permanent resident of the school, the way the house elves and the phoenixes were residents of the school. Except the house elves got paid, and could take leave, and the phoenixes could fly off whenever they liked. Sam had to stay with Dean or a teacher; he wasn’t allowed out alone.

Even before Sam was accepted into Jinxes, he lived at the school. As an eight-year-old living at a magical high school, sometimes he felt special. But sometimes he felt like a freak. He lived at _school_. He and Dean were supposed to take a carriage back to the bus station in Phoenix at the end of every school year, but they never did. Nobody came looking for them.

Sam liked to think he fell through the cracks. He liked to think he was invisible, that nobody really knew he existed. That way he could become a spy when he grew up. One foot in the Muggle world, one in the wizards’.

That dream was still in the pipeline. Sam was sure he’d do something awesome once he came of age.

When Sam was twelve and a second-year student, Dean was preparing to take his B.A.T. exams, so he was too busy to play games any more. Sam’s vacations would be spent playing wizard’s chess with the house elves, or charming the chairs in the classrooms to balance on top of each other.

The year following Dean’s Bafflingly Arduous Tests was even worse. F.R.O.G.s were significantly harder than B.A.T.s, and to top it all off, Dean was dating, like, five different girls. Sam told him he was an idiot, but Dean insisted they had an _arrangement_. The conversation stopped there, so Sam never got to tell him he wasn’t talking about the polyamory, he was talking about trying and failing to balance hardcore study with hardcore dating.

They needed parents in their lives, Sam thought. Until now, Dean had been Sam’s parent. But now Sam felt like Dean was losing it, and Sam had become the sensible one.

That was when Sam finally embraced what it was to be part of Qurdruk house. Those in Qurdruk valued _understanding_ above all else. So Sam sought to understand his brother. He asked questions, but Dean didn’t want to answer. Sam tried to start conversations, but Dean would end them. Sam tried so many ways to reach out, but Dean was so lost in his world of girls and books and stress that Sam decided that, for the sake of their relationship, it was safer to step back.

Qurdruk’s common room was a domed clay space. The floor was layered with patterned cushions over rugs and mattresses. All the tables were small and easily moved, and people tended to crawl when they wanted to travel; running would make the furniture bounce. Strings of beads hung from the ceiling. In the slightest breeze, they would twirl, catching the light from the round windows up above.

The mascot of Qurdruk was a scarlet lizard sunning itself on an orange rock. The mascot, combined with the layout of their common room, led to ideas that Qurdruks were lazy or too comfort-oriented – but for most, the opposite was true. Qurdruks were hard workers, and they always knew where to put their feet. Literally. That’s why they made such good sportspeople. Some were arrogant, perhaps, but Sam liked to think he wasn’t. He probably was a bit, though.

Instead of spending time in the near-empty Qurdruk common room over the spring and winter breaks, Sam whiled away the hours in the library with the handful of other students who stayed at Jinxes throughout the school year. Otherwise, he could be found in the kitchens with the house elves, or in the Astronomy tower with the phoenixes.

Sam became excellent at passing days by himself. Nobody knew the castle better than he did. And nobody had ever mapped the places that he’d mapped, he was sure of it.

In January of his first F.R.O.G. year, Dean celebrated his seventeenth birthday. It was his second-to-last year at school. Since he and Sam still lived at Jinxes, they were both under the Ministry’s protection – but Dean had come of age: he was allowed to become Sam’s legal guardian. So he did. They had a small party. Sam was thirteen. It was the first time he tasted real alcohol, and Dean made sure it was a safe experience. He was a good brother like that.

Eighteen months later, when Dean graduated from Jinxes with Exceeds Expectations in everything except Muggle Studies (he thought he knew everything so he never really tried), Sam was distraught. Dean would have to live somewhere else, get a job, become an _adult_. After four years of barely seeing Dean, Sam was terrified that it could be another four years before he could follow. From now on he’d be legally bound to the school grounds, only allowed out with special permission and a teacher, or a Ministry-appointed handler. If Dean wasn’t there... Sam would have nobody.

Kids were meant to make friends. Sam had never learned how to make friends. He was sure he’d be a good companion, if he had anyone to accompany. It wasn’t for lack of trying – he’d said hello to plenty of people, but he’d never been able to wriggle his way into a clique. He’d decided he was better on his own anyway, but he knew it wasn’t true.

He kept up with the house elves. The house elves were cool. But the house elves weren’t Dean.

An hour before the phoenix carriages were scheduled to leave, Dean arrived in the Qurdruk common room – and he took Sam completely by surprise.

“Sam— Sam!” Dean ran across the common room, making a coffee table flip over on the mattress. People complained and shot him dirty looks, but Dean seemed oblivious. He reached Sam, and he grabbed him by both biceps. “Sam. You’re not gonna believe this.”

“You’re right; I don’t,” Sam said. “I told you to walk carefully when you’re in here.”

“No—” Dean looked truly enlivened, a fluttery grin dancing on the corners of his lips. He was slightly out of breath. “Seriously,” he huffed. “ _Guess what_.”

Sam would usually roll his eyes and shake Dean loose, but there was something different about his demeanour today. Whatever his news was, it probably wasn’t about a hot girl, or a stupid rumour about the teachers, or about free food, or a flooded bathroom. This was important.

“I don’t know,” Sam said truthfully. “Tell me.”

“Principal Moseley _knows_.”

“What? Knows what?”

“Everything! Well, not everything— At least I don’t think she knows everything. But, you and me! She’s known all along! You and me, staying here over the summer. Every year. She’s why nobody ever came looking for us! _She knew._ And she let it happen.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “This whole time?”

Dean nodded. “And that’s not all. Oh my God, you’re not gonna believe this.” He stood back from Sam, brushing a hand back through his own short hair. “Guess. Go _on_ , Sammy.”

“It’s _Sam_.” Sam frowned. “Uhh. She’s letting us stay this summer too?” He brightened at the thought, and almost jumped for joy when Dean nodded. “You too? She’s letting you stay?”

“Yeah! But there’s something else!”

“You’re kidding me. What?”

“Sh-sh—” Dean pressed a finger to his lips. He was bouncing slightly on the mattresses underfoot, too excited to stay still. “I’ll tell you. It’s so amazing, like— Wow. Let me—” Dean paced around, shaking out his energetic hands. When he looked back at Sam, he held his eyes sternly. He licked his lips, ready to speak.

Sam leaned forward. “Come on! Just tell me already!”

“No, no, wait for it...” Dean held up a finger, grinning. He breathed out one last time, then pulled in a deep, preparing breath. “I’m gonna become a school teacher.”

“Where?”

“Here! At Jinxes!” Dean held his arms wide, beaming.

“No way!” Sam leapt out of his beanbag, and out of his sullen mood. “No _way_!”

Dean laughed, bringing Sam in for a hug. “Yes way,” he said, kissing the top of Sam’s head. “I’m staying right here. I’ll be moving rooms but I’ll still be at Jinxes. And I’ll be teaching your Charms class next year!”

“Charms?” Sam rolled his eyes, shoving Dean’s hair-ruffling hand away. “Dude, decent exam results aside, you’re not _that_ good at Charms.”

“There was a vacancy,” Dean shrugged. “I asked for Defence Against the Dark Arts but obviously Professor Bradbury already has that.”

“Since she got her time-turner, I had her for Muggle Studies this year too,” Sam smiled. “Maybe you and her could share Defence – that way her schedule would be lighter.”

“Meh,” Dean smiled, batting a dismissive hand. He sank into one of Qurdruk’s most comfortable throw pillows, spreading out. “Let me see how Charms goes for a year. Then I’ll reconsider maybe teaching Defence too. I’ve never taught a whole class before. For all I know, it could be like instructing between ten and thirty-five versions of _you_.”

“And there’s nothing harder than teaching me,” Sam grinned. He lay down beside his brother, stretching out backwards with his hands behind his head. “Whoa,” he sighed. “My brother’s gonna be a teacher.”

“You make it sound like it’s badass.”

“It _is_ badass. We’ve practically grown up here, Dean. Now it’s like we’re properly home.”

Dean looked over, a softness in his green eyes. “Home,” he said quietly. He looked up at the swaying beads, and a tiny rainbow swung across his freckled cheek. “I like that. We’re home.”

  
**☆**  
  



	2. Non-Chronology (Castiel)

Night fell hours ago, but Castiel refused to leave his potion unattended and go to bed.

“Dude, just start over tomorrow,” Dean begged. “I’m hungry, I’m tired, I kinda need to pee—”

“I’m almost at a breakthrough!” Castiel said, pushing his wild, dark hair out of his eyes. His eyebrows were drawn together near-permanently, his cheeks were flushed, and he kept shaking his head and turning book pages back and forth.

All around them, books floated in the gloom of the dark classroom, lit only by hovering candles, grouped in batches, and the luminescent turquoise mixture that bubbled and spat on the table between Dean and Castiel.

Dean sighed, scruffing his hand back through his greasy hair. “Cas,” he said plaintively, “You’ve been working on this same glowing turquoise formula for a whole year—”

“One year, three months—”

“Yeah, whatever!” Dean rolled his eyes. “A long time. Nearly all the time I’ve known you, take six months or so. It’s not going to be miraculously _perfect_ tonight, is it?”

“You don’t know that.”

“Cas... _Cas_.” Dean took Castiel’s cheeks in his hands, trying and failing to draw his eye. “Look at me.”

Castiel finally lifted his eyes from the potion and gazed back at Dean. Dean loosened his grip on his face, holding the warm sides of his neck instead.

“Listen,” Dean said gently, “whatever this potion is, I don’t care. You won’t tell me and that’s fine. But please, for the love of anything, take a break. I haven’t seen you eat, not once.”

“Food distracts me, I don’t get back to work as focused. Then I have to digest it, and I get tired—”

“You’re already tired,” Dean said, letting his hands slip from Castiel’s neck back to the table. He twiddled a herb between his fingers absentmindedly, his gaze focused on the shadowed skin under Castiel’s eyes, and the lopsided drag of his mouth. “Cas, you look like shit.”

“This is more important,” Castiel said.

“No,” Dean said, putting his hand over Castiel’s when he reached for the self-stirring ladle. “Look at me.”

Castiel looked up again, this time defeated. He knew Dean had already won.

“You’re going to bed,” Dean said. “Now. Before I have to carry you.”

Castiel gulped, and he slowly let the ladle slip from his fingers. “I was so close.”

“You don’t know that any better than I do,” Dean replied. He helped Castiel to his feet, grasping his back when his legs shook. “How can you know you have results if you don’t know what the potion’s for?”

“I do know what the potion’s for,” Castiel said. “It’s you who doesn’t.”

Dean helped Castiel drag his feet from the room, shutting the door behind them. The potion would die on its own, slowly ceasing to glow, until its magical properties drained completely. It had died that way two hundred times before and Dean still didn’t know its purpose.

“Will you ever tell me?” Dean asked, guiding Castiel up the stairs, then down the next flight.

Castiel shook his head. “When it works, you’ll know.”

Dean didn’t understand what that meant. But he accepted that Castiel did.

The school was quiet at night. The students and the teachers were all asleep in their beds, being the sensible people that they were.

Dean took Castiel down to the kitchens, made him a sandwich, and watched him eat it before they went back up to bed.

Dean took Castiel as far as the teachers’ common room. The entrance was hidden behind a Diné tapestry of a flaming phoenix, her geometric-feathered wings spread protectively above all her phoenix babies. The tapestry moved as they approached.

“What’s the word?” the phoenix asked, tilting her head curiously.

Dean gave the password as “Flummox.”

The phoenix lifted her wings, and the tapestry rolled up along with them.

“‘Night, Cas,” Dean said quietly. “Sleep well. I’m gonna take a walk around. See you at breakfast.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean sighed as the tapestry rolled back down behind Castiel.

“‘Sup?” the phoenix asked.

Dean shrugged. “Oh,” he said. “Nothing.”

“No, for serious,” the phoenix said. “You always look sadder when you come by late.”

Dean licked his lips, peering at the stitched phoenix. He managed a half-smile, then shrugged again, putting his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “He won’t tell me what he’s making. At first, years ago, I thought it was a surprise for me – but now I’m not so sure. He’s working on it too hard. Whatever it is, it’s important to him. But I have zero clue how to figure it out. And I don’t know how to help him if he won’t tell me.”

“Perhaps you just gotta wait a little longer,” the phoenix said. She spread her wings, showing off her toddling baby birds. “Things don’t always stay the same.”

Dean thought that was rich coming from a fake bird whose babies never grew, but he appreciated her input regardless. “Thanks,” he said. He turned away, giving her a small wave. “See you around, I guess.”

“See ya, Deanie Weenie.”

As Dean walked, he found himself smiling ever so slightly.

  
**☆**  
  


“Cas, it’s a hundred degrees outside, what the hell are you doing out here?!” Dean stared at his friend in no small amount of distress. “How are you not _dying_ right now?”

“I told you I don’t understand your Muggle temperatures,” Castiel said carelessly, turning another page of his book. “I came out here because it’s quiet. You’re preventing it from being quiet and I don’t appreciate that.”

“Well... nyaah.” Dean stomped out of the trap door, leaving footprints in the sand. Even in the shade, the heat of the sand made him hop and gasp and wish he had a broomstick to ride. He sat down beside Castiel, crossing his legs with his bare feet balanced on his knees so they wouldn’t touch the sand.

“Why did you come up here?” Castiel asked, turning another page, not looking up. He was wearing a loose white shirt which billowed about every time the wind shifted their way, bringing with it the smell of clay from the sides of the quarry.

Dean shrugged, plucking at his t-shirt. “You weren’t in the common room with Sam, or in the library, or the bathroom. So I checked out here.”

“Hm.”

Dean eyed Castiel again. “Cas, are you okay?”

“I’m planning my lessons,” Castiel said. “I don’t want to teach the same exact day-to-day syllabus for a third year in a row. As much as I hate change, I think I need to be harder on my F.R.O.G. students this year; I got the feeling some of them were disappointed with their B.A.T. results for Potions. I don’t want to be caught unprepared.”

“But are you _okay_ , is what I asked.”

Castiel glanced up, and in the reflected sun, the gaze of his blue eyes pierced through Dean like lightning. Castiel had a dark tan and he’d grown out a fuzzy beard. He’d never looked so alluring. Dean brought his knees in closer.

“I’m... fine,” Castiel said, after a long pause. He looked back at his book. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

They shared a silence.

The silence went on longer, and Dean noticed that Castiel was no longer turning pages. He was just staring at the book.

“...Cas?”

Castiel swallowed. He blinked, then he shifted a hand slowly to his throat. He touched the top button of his shirt, and he undid it. Dean watched this with rapt fascination. Castiel went back to his book.

Less than a minute later, he undid another button. Two buttons, in fact.

Dean tried not to look, but he did anyway. If he tipped his chin up a little bit, he could see Castiel’s right nipple. His skin was paler under the shirt, though it was far from pasty white. Dean wondered if it had ever seen the sun.

Castiel sighed, and raised both hands to his chest. He left his book open, and all the pages flipped shut, but he ignored it in favour of unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

“Too hot, huh?” Dean said, a smirk spreading on one side of his mouth. He felt a tension in his lower belly, something fun and electric.

“Very hot,” Castiel said.

“I’ll say,” Dean said under his breath. He smiled innocently when Castiel glanced his way.

There were small folds of skin on Castiel’s belly – not fatty, but muscular. Dean felt dazed just looking at it. He... liked it. He liked to look at Cas with his shirt open. He imagined Cas lying back on the sand with his shirt open that way, and he liked that, too.

Dean folded his legs up tight to his chest, ignoring the burn on his feet. He needed to hide his crotch. He very quickly became overheated, and he started to feel sweat prickling all over his body.

“Why don’t you take your shirt off, Dean?” Castiel said casually, turning a page. “It’s too hot for clothes.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, but he didn’t move.

“It’s much better when there’s nothing between you and the breeze,” Castiel said. His voice was soft, the odd word touched by the wind and carried away.

Dean trembled. He wanted to be topless with Cas. That might be exciting. Though he was twenty-two years old now, and he talked about sex whenever he could make the opportunity, Dean had never actually been topless with another man.

As if offering another invitation, Castiel took his shirt off completely. He had a gorgeous curve in his lower back, and fine shoulder bones that jutted out smoothly as he wriggled his shirt off his wrists and left it in the sand. He rolled his shoulders and rocked his head back, letting out a soft “ _Ah_ ,” of relief.

Dean bit his lip, feeling a fierce throb between his legs. Cas was a friend. Dean’s best friend. His co-worker. It was weird to find him sexy. Dean had always thought Cas was handsome, but it was weird to want to look at the guy without any clothes on, and it was weird to wish Castiel wasn’t looking back so Dean could look at him properly.

But Castiel was looking back. And Dean realised he _liked_ that he was looking.

Capturing a jolt of bravery and running with it, Dean shifted his position so his hips were angled away and Castiel couldn’t see his semi-erection. Then Dean lifted his arms and yanked his t-shirt over his head, crumpling it into his lap. Now he could sit cross-legged again, and Castiel was none the wiser to Dean’s private reaction.

“Isn’t that better?” Castiel asked.

Dean felt the sweet breeze carry away his flustered sweat, and he sighed, eyes slipping closed. “Oh, yeah,” he murmured. When he opened his eyes, he beamed at Castiel. Then he giggled, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God.”

Castiel laughed in a gentle, friendly way. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing’s... funny.” Dean shook his head, peeking between his fingers at Castiel, then he let his hands fall. “I just didn’t think I’d ever be this comfortable with you. It’s kinda nice.”

“I think there are plenty of nice things you and I can do together,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “But, later.” He picked up his book and began reading.

Dean stared for a bit.

Cas was... serious. Dean was being ignored.

“Oh,” Dean said. He realised he’d completely misinterpreted this interaction. “Oh— Okay. That’s fine. I’ll, uh. I’ll be inside. You know, where it’s not roasting. Come in when you’re ready. Before you pass out, please.” Dean got up, pulling his too-hot shirt back on. With a gulp, he turned away and went back to the trap door, lifting the rope to pull the wooden square up. Sand drained from it and Dean trod down the steps.

He paused halfway down, holding the trap door open over his head. Castiel was still out there. He scratched his bare shoulder, then turned another page.

  
**☆**  
  


Dean’s throat was _sore_. He’d been shouting and cheering for going on five hours now, and under the sound of all the other teachers doing the same, he wasn’t sure he was actually making any noise at all. When the game was over he hurried from the faculty’s viewing platform and skipped down the stairs cut into the side of the quarry cliff. He sprinted across the ditch, laughing. He knew Castiel wasn’t far behind; they went everywhere together if they could. Besides, Cas would want to congratulate Sam too.

A few hundred feet away, the olive-green-robed Jinstem team tottered along, defeated but still proud. Dean saw them go in for a group hug in the distance, and then he swung his attention back to Qurdruk.

Dean watched the Qurdruk Quidditch team straggling and staggering where they stood, the last of them toppling down off their brooms. Their terracotta robes were presumably dusty now, but they looked the same colour they’d been before.

Sam emerged from the mass of his cheering team, a huge grin across his face. “We did it!” he shouted, waving to Dean. Dean jogged the last fifty feet, and Sam met him halfway, letting Dean rush to grip him in a bear hug.

“Aaah!” Dean shouted, squeezing Sam tight. “You smell like victory!”

Sam laughed, folding forward. He was exhausted, shaking, and his scruffy brown hair was pushed back in a windswept quiff. Dean ran his hand through it and messed it up, putting it back to normal. “Knew you could do it, little brother. Your first game as Captain! And you won!”

Castiel came up behind Dean, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Well done, Sam,” he said. “You’ve improved so much since last year.”

“Uriel says I’m the best Chaser they ever had on the team,” Sam said breathlessly, so much life in his eyes. “ _Uriel_ said that. Can you believe it?!”

Dean nodded, grinning. He loved to see Sam that exhilarated, just like a kid again.

“You!” came a shout from some distance away. Dean grinned when he saw his old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher whizzing towards them on her old Nimbus 2011. She pulled to a swift stop and hopped off, her jagged red hair shaking with colourful beads, knocking together with every step she took. Her robes were coloured maroon and her smile was wide. She came up to Sam and hugged him like Dean had.

“That’s my boy,” Professor Bradbury said, scruffing Sam’s dirty hair. “I was telling everyone on your team how well you all did, and I noticed we were missing our man of the hour.”

“I came to see Dean,” Sam smiled. “I mean, Professor Winchester.”

Dean snorted.

Professor Bradbury looked at Dean and her smile grew. “Always knew Sam took after someone great.”

Dean blew a raspberry. “Oh, please. I get it from _Sam_.”

Sam batted at Dean’s chest. “I’m gonna go talk to my team. Party later— I’ll see you ‘round!”

“See ya, Sasquatch!” Dean waved after his brother, swelling with pride for him. “Ahh, look at him. Seventeen years old, Quidditch Captain. He’s all grown up.”

“Not quite,” Professor Bradbury said, folding her arms. “I counted at least three intentional infractions.”

“He cheated?!”

“Everyone cheated,” Charlie smiled. “But Qurdruk cheated less than Jinstem, which is why they won.”

“Why those little—” Dean glared across the base of the quarry, spying the Jinstem team making their way back to the castle entrance with the main crowd. “When I was their age, I never cheated!”

“I find that hard to believe,” Charlie smirked, sharing a look with Castiel. “ _You_ , Professor Goldkeeper. I know how it went for you.”

“What?” Dean looked at the two of them suspiciously. “Cas? Cas, did you _cheat_?”

“I... may have surreptitiously taken the place of an unconscious Keeper during my first game,” Castiel said. “He didn’t wake up for six weeks, so nobody really minded that I took his place in practice afterwards. They needed someone.”

Dean gaped, appalled. “Am I the only one around here who values proper sportsmanship?”

“Hey, nothing’s unfair if everyone’s dancing to the same anarchistic marching band,” Charlie joked. Her eyes sparkled, and she took a step away, cocking her head to indicate Dean and Castiel should follow. “Points deducted are the same thing as points not gained, so as long as nobody dies, I’ll let a few infractions slide.”

“Hrmph,” Dean said, stalking after Professor Bradbury. The crowd was dwindling, since most students were already inside now, desperate to get out of the evening heat. Principal Moseley brought up the rear, following a few paces behind Charlie, Dean, and Castiel.

“Professor Bradbury,” Professor Moseley called, bringing the trio to an immediate halt.

Charlie turned around, giving a lazy salute. “Evening, Prof.”

“Evening.” Moseley smiled, giving Dean a nod. “Dean. Your brother’s doing very well.”

“Sure is,” Dean nodded.

“Charlie,” Moseley said, stepping up to Charlie and setting her arm around her. “I got a word to share with you.” Charlie was led a few short steps away before Moseley began, “Now, I don’t meant to infringe on your right to teach those kids how to whack a flying ball around a pitch, but I got somethin’ I gotta get out here.”

Charlie nodded. Moseley’s back was turned to Dean and Castiel, and her face was hidden behind her wild, massive bun of kinky black hair, but Charlie was still visible, so Dean and Castiel watched the proceedings without feeling they were eavesdropping.

“I counted at least fifteen rules that got broke in the game today,” Moseley said. “They’re good players, but I can’t say I ain’t... well, disappointed.”

“I deducted points, awarded penalties,” Charlie said, eyes down, nodding.

“But those infractions still happened,” Professor Moseley said, putting her hands on her hips. Her purple chiffon robes draped all the way to the dust, hanging from her elbows. “What we learn at this school is not merely how to respect life, learning to understand, and how to be free. There also has to be a respect for the rules, how to understand _discipline_ , and how to keep yourself in _line_. No bullshit. You get me?”

“I getcha,” Charlie said. She put on a brave smile. “I’ll have a word with them. Zunbyrd’s team too. They’re the worst rule-breakers.”

“Hrmph,” Castiel said, though he didn’t sound surprised.

Professor Moseley turned around at the noise. “Is there something interesting you boys are here for?” Her small eyebrows rose on her round face.

“No, Professor,” Castiel said, before clearing his throat. “Me and Dean were just... going.”

“Charlie can go too,” Moseley said with a smile. “I’ve said my piece.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Charlie said, scampering over to Dean and Castiel. “See you at dinner, Prof.”

“I hear there’s pie,” Moseley mentioned. “Better get down there quick before the kids snatch it all up!”

“Don’t need to tell _me_ twice,” Dean uttered, and he ran off, leaving Charlie and Castiel behind.

  
**☆**  
  


Charlie and Castiel first met in detention. Charlie was a fifth-year, and Castiel was a second-year. They were both in for the same thing: smuggling contraband into the school.

As soon as the bell rang, they both strutted from the Great Hall like hippogriffs out of a bear trap. As it happened, they were both headed for the phoenix tower.

Jinxes’ phoenix tower doubled as its Astronomy tower. Well, more accurately, the Astronomy tower doubled as the mail room, which happened to house twelve dozen phoenixes.

“What are you sending?” Charlie asked, strapping a tiny parcel onto the leg of a full-grown phoenix. The bird was the same bright colour as her shoulder-length hair.

“Just stuff,” Castiel said, head down. He checked over his submission letter one last time before he signed it. He folded it without looking, his eyes instead drawn to the sunset across the school grounds.

Sunlight cut through the quarry, casting a single triangular shadow. The ditch was split diagonally; bright on the left, dark on the right.

From all the way up here, Castiel could see the windows of the Potions classrooms in shade at the base of the ditch, and some way along, the Zunbyrd and Qurdruk common room windows glinted with yellow.

Castiel’s eyeline followed the rope bridge that led from the Astronomy tower to the edge of the quarry, then kept to the side for two hundred feet before it met a balcony and disappeared inside the middle of the red clay cliff. From there, there were stairs inside which led down to the main part of the castle.

“You’re not too chatty, are you?” Charlie observed, shooting Castiel an understanding smile. “I get that. Unless I really like someone I tend to say nothing at all.”

Castiel frowned. “But you’re talking to me. Does that mean you really like me?”

“I appreciate your existence,” Charlie said. “I heard you took a singing quill into a Muggle Studies test.”

“Yes. It helps me concentrate,” Castiel said. “I revised while the quill was singing, so when I hear it singing I remember what I revised.”

“That’s smart. Too bad it’s not allowed,” Charlie chuckled. She stroked her phoenix’s head, then uttered a quiet, “Go on, ‘Ferno. Tell my mom hi from me.”

The phoenix croaked a reply, then bowed and flew off, wings spread out wide. Castiel watched it leave the ditch and appear to catch fire, but it was only an illusion, caused by its magnificent feathers lighting up under the blaze of the Arizona sun.

“Inferno’s the best,” Charlie said, smiling at the flaming dot, which became smaller and smaller as the bird flew away. “I wouldn’t swap him for an owl any day.”

“Most owls would overheat out here,” Castiel said. “And Sonoran Desert native owls aren’t well-suited for other climates.”

“That’s why I wouldn’t swap him for an owl,” Charlie replied. “Obviously.”

Castiel supposed that was good logic.

“So, really,” Charlie said. “What are you sending?”

Castiel swallowed, tightening up the cord that attached his letter to the leg of his chosen phoenix. He had to tell the bird where to go now, so he stood straight and recited, “Offices of _Prize Potions_ , Los Angeles; care of Oscar Oswaldson, please, if it’s not too much trouble. Ms. Raglan approved my purchase, so you’ll be bringing a parcel back. I ordered a lot of rare herbs, and they might be heavy,” he warned. “Sorry.”

The phoenix rumbled, apparently amused by Castiel’s politeness. With a nod, it spread its wings and took off. It followed the same path Inferno had.

“What’s your phoenix’s name?” Charlie asked.

“Oh... No, it belongs to the school, it’s not mine. I don’t have a familiar,” Castiel said sadly. “The Ministry won’t fund its care. When I’m seventeen I’ll be allowed access to the money my parents left me, and I can finally—” He trailed off, sending a thoughtful look towards Charlie. She was dressed like him: she wore a faded maroon robe with rolled-up sleeves, over a button-down shirt, a cotton waistcoat, and ripped jeans. Castiel didn’t want to insult her, so he rephrased what he planned to say, and instead said, “I can finally keep an animal. And wear the kind of clothes I want to wear.”

“What’s wrong with the clothes you have now?”

“I want new things.” Castiel put on a long-suffering smile. “I’ve been wearing second-hand clothes all my life. They always smell like other people and I don’t like that.”

“Oh.” Charlie nodded slowly. “I was gonna say it’s not so bad wearing hand-me-downs, but yeah, if you’re not keen on weird smells, it’s gotta suck. I know a spell for removing smells from clothes, if you’re interested.”

“Y-Yeah, I... Please. Everything is... overwhelming,” Castiel said, slumping his shoulders in exasperation.

“You mean wizarding school?”

“No, I mean everything. Talking, my clothes, the sound of air in my ears. Being close to other people; being completely alone. Tastes. Smells. Having to do a task at the exact time people tell me to do it, rather than when I have the energy. Having to remember to eat. Things like that.”

“You forget to eat?”

“It’s not that I forget, I just... don’t.” Castiel shrugged. “Sometimes there’s food in front of me and I’m hungry, I just keep doing something else.”

Charlie seemed interested. “Do you... ever have trouble... I mean, I’m sorta pulling this outta my ass right now, but do you ever have trouble making eye contact?”

Castiel stared at her. “No.”

“What about socialising? You’re doing fine now, I just mean... other times.”

“People are difficult,” Castiel said, tilting his head. “Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah, like that! Like that, exactly!” Charlie pointed, waggling a finger. “Like you have to clarify because it’s confusing. People’s facial expressions—”

“Facial expressions,” Castiel finished, at the same time as Charlie. “And the tone of their voice. Yes.” Castiel took a breath, thinking hard. “I understand frowning. Frowning is bad. But sometimes shouting is good, and smiling is sometimes not good.”

“I had a friend,” Charlie said. “Back in my Muggle school. She was a lot like you. She had trouble meeting people’s eyes, and she used to get angry a lot, but she was sweet – and kinda dorky. She was fine with talking to people. One time she got really obsessed about trains and then nobody could get her to talk about anything else.”

“I like making potions,” Castiel said. He smiled; he completely understood why Charlie’s Muggle friend would get attached to one subject. “Aside from Care of Magical Creatures, or Herbology, I don’t like to think about other things. Other things get in the way of Potions.”

“You must be acing that class, then.”

Castiel only remembered what ‘acing something’ meant because he’d overheard a Muggle-born explaining the phrase to a pureblood when they didn’t understand. Castiel nodded. “I’m ‘acing’ potions.”

“Which house are you in?” Charlie asked.

“Zunbyrd.”

Charlie smiled. “Really? I never saw you around the common room before.”

“I stay in my dormitory,” Castiel answered.

Charlie hummed. “Maybe you could talk to Kara. She’s in my year, and she’s autistic too.”

“Pardon?” Castiel frowned. “She’s what?”

“It’s a...” Charlie hesitated. “I don’t really know. It’s not a sickness, but it’s a thing that people have. It makes them a certain way. Different. But it can be good different. It just makes life hard sometimes. For you and the people around you. Mostly because people don’t understand.”

Castiel squinted. “I’m not sure _I_ understand.”

“There’s a _lot_ of people like you in the world. But it might not be obvious why you’re different. Maybe you thought you were... I don’t know... broken.”

Castiel slowly leaned against a wall, feeling its chill seep into him, soothing him. “So I’m _not_ broken?”

Charlie’s expression changed, releasing her questionable word choice hit the mark. “No,” she said softly, insistently. “Castiel, you’re not broken at all.”

Castiel started to cry.

“Oh, no... no, no,” Charlie rushed forward, kneeling where Castiel had slumped down. She reached to comfort him, but pulled back before she made contact. “May I touch you?” she asked.

Castiel covered his face with both hands and nodded, rocking forward, bumping backward into the wall. He didn’t know why so many tears rushed from his eyes, but they were cool and they trickled between his fingers, evaporating before they reached his wrists. Charlie set her arms around him, and he curled up small under her embrace.

She smelled okay. Castiel liked her.

It was fine to cry if Charlie was there.

  
**☆**  
  


Turquoise bubbles floated upwards instead of steam. Though the potion inside bubbled like a boiling liquid, Castiel’s cauldron was cool to the touch.

“Don’t you ever get sick of making the same thing over and over?” Dean asked, sitting at a right angle to Castiel, his hand pressed into his cheek as he rested heavily on his elbow. His cheek squished up next to his eye, and his voice came out muffled. “‘Cause _I’m_ freakin’ sick of watching you make it over and _over_.”

“It’s different every time,” Castiel said calmly, his tone contrary to the stiff frown on his face. He scribbled down a note on the parchment under his hand, then he whipped out his white-pine wand and charmed the paper to float a foot over his head. A parrot feather quill came along and began scratching where Castiel’s own handwriting left off.

“I miss the time when you used to spend your evenings making Muggle desserts,” Dean said dolefully. “Do you remember that? You used to try so hard to impress me, and now...” He sighed.

Castiel paused, not yet sprinkling his powdered wormwood into his cauldron. He looked at Dean with his tired eyes. It seemed a chord had been struck within him. “You think I stopped?”

Dean lowered his eyes, shrugging. “I liked it, that’s all. Maybe our relationship changed, I don’t know.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, clearly unnerved. He put down his wormwood, his frown lighter than before. Now he just looked sad. “I didn’t realise you felt that way. For that matter, I didn’t realise you thought I wasn’t still...” He bowed his head, looking forlorn. “I still want to impress you, Dean.”

“Then why don’t we make a different potion?” Dean suggested. “This turquoise one’s pretty much all you’ve made in two entire _years_. You’ve gotta see how utterly _crazy_ that is. What’s crazier still is that you haven’t achieved your goal. Maybe I could help you. If you told me what it was for—”

“No.” Castiel was blunt. He looked up and met Dean’s eyes. “I can’t tell you what the potion’s for, Dean.”

“But _why_?!”

“Because if you knew, you’d try and stop me,” Castiel replied.

After so long, that was the clearest answer Dean had gotten from him. And Dean didn’t like it at all.

Dean swallowed, lowering his head. “So every third night for two years, I’ve been here beside you, watching you try and fail, try and fail, try and fail – and you knew the whole time that I wouldn’t approve? That deep down, I wouldn’t _want_ you to succeed?”

“If I were to put it so succinctly, yes.”

Dean knew an expression of pain crossed his face, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice. He usually didn’t. “Then why keep trying?”

Castiel shook his head, and he leaned forward, peering into the depths of his glowing cauldron. He picked up a pinch of his wormwood, and he sprinkled it around the liquid, watching it spark pink for a moment, then fade. “Because,” he said, then exhaled, at a loss for words. “It’s too great to explain. I wouldn’t know where to start. I want to change... _everything_. That’s why this potion is so difficult. That’s why it’s taken so long.”

“What are you trying to change?” Dean asked, hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck. Castiel had never spoken so candidly about his precious potion.

Castiel looked up then, and Dean saw anguish in his eyes. “You’ll know,” Castiel said. “When I’ve succeeded, you’ll know what I was trying to do.”

Dean had heard those words so many times before, but tonight they cut right through him, making his heart heavy. Dread began to settle in his belly, like a shadowy snow hissing onto coal-black ice.

Dean let Castiel carry on making whatever he was making, and he watched the colourful quill write notes as he went along. Books floated down from the air, and Castiel read passages, muttering under his breath before turning back to his cauldron. Dean watched the candles flicker, and he watched Castiel push his hair out of his face over and over, but he didn’t speak.

Eventually Castiel muttered, “I don’t know if this’ll work. I suppose it’s better that I expect nothing so I can’t be disappointed. But I think I might be done.”

After so long, his announcement felt anticlimactic.

“Oh,” Dean said. “Congratulations?”

Castiel dismissed Dean’s felicitations with a wave. “Not yet. I have to try it first.”

He dipped a finger into the bright bubbling mixture, and he lifted it to his mouth, sucking the thick gloop from his fingertip. He narrowed his eyes, peering at a point at the far end of his darkened classroom. “Hm,” he said. “Perhaps not.”

“How can you tell if it’s going to work just by the taste?” Dean asked.

“It would be obvious,” Castiel insisted. He then dipped his thumb into the mixture and lifted it to Dean’s face. “You try it.”

Dean leaned back a few inches away from Castiel’s thumb. “Me? Are you sure?”

“It won’t do anything to you, you’re not—” Castiel huffed. “It won’t affect you.”

Dean hesitated, eyebrows slowly colliding. But Castiel wriggled his thumb enticingly, and Dean supposed he may as well humour him. So he smirked and leaned in, sealing his mouth around Castiel’s thumb.

All at once, Dean’s mood changed. It had nothing to do with the potion – but everything to do with having Castiel’s thumb in his mouth. Dean sucked slowly, feeling his body tingle hot, his eyes locked to Castiel’s. He felt breathless, and immensely excited. He squeezed his thighs together, enjoying the pressure that had built so quickly between his legs.

"How does it taste?”

Dean sucked on Castiel’s thumb for a second longer, having forgotten he was meant to let go. He felt a flush grace his skin as he pulled away.

“Uh,” he said, licking his lips, now somewhat breathless. “Well – your thumb tastes awesome. The potion, though, not so much.”

A lopsided smirk slowly crawled up Castiel’s face. His eyes lowered to Dean’s mouth, then back up – then he looked away, still smiling.

Dean couldn’t believe Cas had done that. Cas. _Flirting_. That was definitely flirting. Right?

“Oh,” Castiel said. His eyebrows rose. “Oh, I think it did work!”

“Did it?”

“Ask me a question,” Castiel said. “Any question.”

“Uh.” Dean licked his lips again, still tasting the tart residue of the potion. “What was this potion for?”

“Not that.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay then—” He paused, thinking of something else he really wanted to know. “Do you ever...” He swallowed hard, eyes dipping to the potion, which carried on bubbling. “Do you ever wish that you could be someone else? Some _thing_ else?”

His heart thudded, and he was sure the beat was visible in his throat. Though he couldn’t lift his gaze from the luminance inside the cauldron, he sensed Castiel looking back at him, at his eyes.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “I wish that every single day.”

He was so plain about it. Dean’s eyes welled with tears.

Castiel’s hand drifted across the corner of the table to touch Dean’s wrist. Dean blinked back his tears, looking up to meet Castiel’s eyes. Concern now seemed to dominate Castiel’s expression. “Dean,” Castiel said softly. “Are you okay?”

Dean wanted to shake his head. But he nodded. He smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied.

Castiel’s eyes widened. “You’re... lying.”

Dean tilted his head, frowning. “How did you—?” Castiel had never been able to figure that out before!

Castiel realised this at the same time as Dean did, and he grinned so widely that Dean felt almost spooked. “My potion worked.”

Dean’s mouth opened. “What...?”

Castiel beamed, and he covered his face with both hands. “Finally,” he whispered.

“Cas, what did you _do_?”

Castiel was about to answer, but then his parchment floated down beside him, and he took it from the air, a grin on his face. “I waited before putting in the wormwood. That was all it took in the end. A little more patience.” He hummed out a laugh, eyes wide as he looked off to the side. “How ironic.”

Dean had no idea what he was talking about. He felt scared that something was different, but not in a good way. Castiel had known Dean wouldn’t like the result of a successful potion, and now it was done... What would come of this?

Castiel was busy re-reading his notes, mouth moving around silent words. He smiled in bursts, and frowned occasionally, but then he stopped dead. His face went blank and he stared through the parchment instead of _at_ it.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked crestfallen when he looked up. “It’s worn off.”

Dean looked between the potion and Castiel. “Well, duh. You only licked a fingerful.”

“But—” Castiel slumped, clutching a hand to his mussed-up hair, groaning quietly. “It only lasted seconds. And the after-effects... A headache... nausea... _Hrgh_. Oh, this is terrible. If I was going to stay affected, I’d have to drink a vial every few minutes.”

“And that’s... bad.”

“I need the effects to be permanent.” Castiel looked twice as exhausted than he had mere minutes ago. “At the very least, drinking a small amount once a week ought to be the limit. Not enough to poison me.”

“Poison— _Poison_?!”

“This is toxic, Dean,” Castiel said, gesturing at the bubbling mixture. “When I started out, I knew it would never be anything _other_ than toxic. Look at it! It glows turquoise and it bubbles cold. No living creature in its right mind would consume this. Besides, the potion’s shelf life is only a few hours. Even if I were to drink the whole cauldron—”

“Please don’t, Cas.”

Castiel sighed, staring at Dean morosely. “I wouldn’t. That much at once would kill me. And the most it could give me is a few hours of normality.”

Dean felt as anxious as Castiel looked. “What do you mean, normality?”

Castiel stayed silent. With his jaw clenched and his eyes suddenly uncaring, he stood up and began packing away his herbs and knives. “I’ll be back tomorrow night,” he said. “Now I know one way to make this potion, I can figure out another way.”

“But Cas—” Dean stood up, gripping the cauldron in Castiel’s hands, keeping him from pouring it down the nearest sink. They hovered inches apart, Dean’s breath on Castiel’s face. Dean felt his sadness weighing heavily between them, keeping the moment tense. “After two years of nothing, you succeeded, even if it was only for a few seconds,” Dean breathed. “But now you’re saying you need something else. Tell me what changed. Tell me what this potion did.”

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Castiel asked. He looked hurt. With a tug, he pulled the cauldron away from Dean and tipped it down the sink with a splash. Turquoise leapt up the sides of the cast-iron basin, making it shimmer as the fluid seeped down towards the plughole.

Dean didn’t reply. It _was_ obvious what the potion had done.

As he helped Castiel clear up his classroom, Dean wondered if Castiel had been wrong. Maybe Dean _would_ embrace the idea of this potion, if a truly functional version ever came into being. But he didn’t like to imagine what kind of future that would bring. For him or for Cas... it seemed nothing but bleak.

  
**☆**  
  



	3. Non-Chronology (Charlie)

When the students had eaten, Dean snuck another bowl of lamb stew and buttered cornbread out of the Great Hall, and he carried it slowly through the school’s underground hallways. Some hallways, like this one, were enchanted so that the ceiling looked like a window. Tipping his head back, Dean could see a fluffy white cloud drifting past in the evening sun. A phoenix flew overhead, swooping towards the Astronomy tower, which was so tall that it made Dean dizzy to see it.

He looked where he was walking instead, and it was a good thing he did, too, because he almost bumped into Charlie as she rounded a corner.

“Watch it, buster,” Charlie said, steadying Dean’s bowl. “You almost turned me into a mutton platter.”

“You already ate the mutton platter,” Dean said. “All I got was scraps off the students’ tables.”

“You steal food from the students?” Charlie said in mock horror.

“I take what I need,” Dean smiled. He turned around and followed Charlie as she headed back the other way down the hallway. He offered his bowl of stew-sodden bread. “Want some?”

“No thanks, I already ate my share,” Charlie grinned.

They went all the way down to Charlie’s Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, leaving the sunny hallways behind. Defence classrooms were always dark and foreboding. Unlike every other classroom in the school, the décor seemed to reflect the subject rather than the teacher.

Dean and Charlie came to a black circular door, and Charlie knocked on the wood.

“Come in,” called a woman’s voice.

Charlie opened the door and led Dean through. Dean grinned, seeing another version of Charlie sitting at her desk, marking papers. She glanced up, then she sighed. “Oh, _this_ again. Worst part is, I’m hungry now, but I can’t eat any of that stew because I know I already ate everything Dean left.” She looked at her younger self. “Lucky you.”

The younger Charlie smiled, closing the door behind them. “Which bit of today are you from?” she asked.

“I’ve been marking papers since an hour before dinner,” the older Charlie said. “Fifth-years’ research findings on the Unforgivable Curses. Before that, second-years’ essays on the best way to reveal someone’s last-used spell.”

With a yawn, she stood up from the desk, rubbing her tired eyes, then she pulled her time-turner out from under her red robe. “Well, time for me to have dinner again. Then I can snuggle up in bed. Finally.”

“Guess I’ll be up late, then,” the younger Charlie said. She glanced at Dean, who was trying to piece it all together. “The other Charlie is me from later tonight,” Charlie explained. “Once I’ve reviewed my plan for tomorrow’s Flying classes, I’ll take a nap, then scoot back to this afternoon and mark fifth- and second-year Defence papers until you and me walk in, now.”

“Right,” Dean nodded. “Because you were playing umpire at the Quidditch match all day today, so you didn’t have time to mark papers.”

“Right,” both versions of Charlie said together. Dean smiled.

“Boy, am I exhausted,” the older Charlie said, blinking hard. “By the time my twenty-fifth birthday rolls around, I’m gonna look like I’m going on forty.”

Dean chewed on a piece of cooked celery. “You know, that’s kind of terrifying.”

“You’re telling me,” the younger Charlie said, pulling out one of the student’s chairs to sit in. Dean sat opposite at another desk, spooning lamb and cornbread into his open mouth.

With a longing look at the food, the older and tireder Charlie seemed to remember that she was on her way to dinner – the same dinner the younger Charlie had just left. “Okay,” she said, gripping her time-turner. “See you about twenty minutes ago.”

With that, she spun the golden hourglass inside the necklace she wore, and she vanished where she stood.

“ _Ohh_ ,” Dean said in sudden realisation. “I was _wondering_ how you managed to eat so much. You showed up at the table twice.”

“Ah- _ha_ ,” Charlie said, also realising something. “That’s why the mutton was nearly all gone when I got there. I wasn’t the first Charlie Bradbury to show up.”

Having wrapped their brains around today’s time travel antics, Dean and Charlie shared a smile of satisfaction. Dean wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and he passed his leftovers to Charlie.

“Oh well,” she shrugged. “Now I know I already ate it, don’t mind if I do.”

  
**☆**  
  


Down in the heart of the castle, deep enough to represent the Third World of the Diné Bahaneʼ, there was a room with no obvious purpose. Nobody knew what to call it, so they called it the Fountain Room. It seemed to exist solely for people to appreciate its beauty.

Dean would go there sometimes. He’d sit at the side of the fountain, losing himself to the soft ripples of the sparkling water as it lapped at the pale stone. He’d listen to the phoenixes singing, and he’d watch an enchanted breeze gust through the flowering vines that covered every wall. Candles lit the room, set into white alcoves at equidistance, as well as floating in the air. The ceiling was laced with light, made up of white candles hovering high.

Dean breathed in the gentle aroma of the place. In all his eleven years living at the school, he’d never been able to determine what it smelled like. Castiel had once brewed up a love potion, Amortentia, and although Dean had picked out select scents at the time – jasmine perfume, warm lipstick, new books, clean bedsheets, engine oil, leather... a certain man’s clothes – the smell of the Fountain Room came across as all of his favourite scents rolled into one. He often wondered if everyone smelled the same thing or whether it was just a coincidence.

This time when he sat down, he ran his fingers through the water, for the thousandth time making a wish that he knew these magical waters could never grant.

He sighed, gazing at the glimmering reflection of his own face, imagining the ripples changing how he looked. But when he blinked, it was the same face again.

“Do you make wishes too?” came a familiar voice.

Dean looked around, and he smiled when he saw Charlie approach from the open doors, where students walked past on their way to their common rooms. It was almost curfew.

“Wishing never works,” Dean said, looking back at the water. “But that doesn’t stop me trying.”

“I come here to think,” Charlie said, sitting down beside Dean on the curved stone, facing him with their knees touching. “It’s so peaceful.” She smiled up at a phoenix, who was perched atop the giant white statue of itself. The real phoenix preened its red feathers, warbling under its breath. Another bird came to sit beside it, but it was not a phoenix: it was a magpie.

“Cas asked me to take Moosh out of her cage to get some exercise,” Dean explained, noticing where Charlie was looking. “He gets so busy with that potion of his...” Dean licked his lips slowly. “I miss him.”

“You know what _I_ miss? Living out a day all in one go,” Charlie said, tucking her colourful beaded hair behind her ears. “I can’t remember the last time I had breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the right order.”

Dean gave a reassuring smile. “Your students love you for what you do. Most of them get to see you twice a day. I remember when I was still a student, I loved both your classes equally.”

“You were so much better at Defence than Flying,” Charlie grinned. “I can say that, now I’m no longer your teacher. But you were. You kinda sucked at riding a broomstick.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean snickered. He glanced over at Moosh, who chased around after a phoenix, flying in figures of eight. “I could never do that, what they’re doing. As soon as I get two feet off the ground I’m shaking.”

“Yeah...” Charlie went quiet for a moment. When she peered back at Dean, she wasn’t smiling.

“What’s up?” Dean asked.

“The school year’s almost over,” she stated. “You’ve been a teacher here for three entire years. That thought makes me happy for you – I can’t even believe it’s been so long. But also... I turn that back on myself, and I kinda wanna... cry.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You? _Cry_?”

“I know – crazy, right?” Charlie laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was serious.

Dean mirrored her position, reaching forward to take her hands. “Hey. Dude. Tell me. What’s the matter?”

“When I first met Cas, I was just over three years older than him,” Charlie said. “Now I’m seven years older than him. It’s only been nine years since we met.”

Dean could guess where this was going. He’d been expecting this ever since he was taking his Frustrating Review Of Gradation examinations and he saw Professor Bradbury run two different ways down a hallway at the same time.

“Um,” Charlie said. She put on a brave smile. “I’m, uh... thinking about giving up a class. Letting someone else teach one.”

She looked like she was expecting a scolding, or an encouragement not to do something terrible like that. But all Dean asked was, “Which one?”

Charlie covered her mouth, smiling and sobbing at once. She bent her head forward and rested her forehead on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean held her, both arms around her.

“I haven’t decided— I— I feel like I’m failing them—”

“Shh,” Dean hushed. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’ll be all right.”

Charlie calmed down after a minute. She lifted her head, and through great force of will, she kept her face from looking upset. “Wh-which class do you think I should keep?”

“Well...” Dean knew which one he would keep in her place, but this decision wasn’t his to make. He lowered his head. “Which makes you happiest?”

Charlie thought about that. Turned out, she already knew the answer. “If I gave up Defence, would you take over? I won’t be able to let it go unless I know my students are in good hands. Would you teach that instead of Charms? Defence was your best subject...”

Dean met his friend’s eyes. He stared for a while, thoughts racing through his mind. Defence Against the Dark Arts had always been his favourite subject, his best subject, and the one he was most qualified to teach. And yet...

“No,” he answered, surprising even himself.

With a small, startled smile, he explained to Charlie, “Uh, it— _Charms_... Teaching Charms. I wasn’t sure about it when I started. It’s like, the most average subject. It’s like Using A Wand 101. Charms class was boring as hell when I was in school. I liked Transfiguration, and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Duelling Club. I liked doing cool, active stuff. For me it was the same in science class back in elementary school – I wanted the explosions, but not always the chemical theory. As much as I liked reading, I preferred fiction. Understanding _why_ things worked was never important to me like it was to Sam.”

Charlie sat listening, so Dean went on, “When Professor Devereaux retired and I took his place, I realised all I had to do was teach Charms different to how he taught it. Give the kids their big explosions – hell yeah. But make learning the theory an explosion too.”

Charlie grinned. “And that’s why your students love you.”

“That’s why they’re acing _all_ their classes,” Dean corrected. “If I can get them to make learning something memorable, then there’s never any reason to forget it. Cas taught me that. He has this singing quill to remember stuff. Made me laugh the first time, but then I realised all I had to do to remember the Magical Table of Elements was hum _All the Bright and Happy Wizards_.”

Charlie gave a giggle and her nose crinkled up.

Dean smiled, shrugging a shoulder. “The kids laugh at me when I sing badly, but the stuff gets learned.”

“So you’ve fallen in love with teaching Charms,” Charlie summarised. “If I get permission, I could give you my time-turner. You could teach both.”

“As much as I’d love to double up on Defence, I couldn’t do what you’ve been doing,” Dean said softly. “Over the years I’ve watched you run yourself into the ground, living every weekday twice, even three times. Students wince when they see you looking so tired. I do too. I hate to say it, Charlie, but anyone who cares for you feels bad for you. We only let you carry on like this because we know you love the madness.”

“I know.” Charlie nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

“Besides...” Dean paused, not sure if he really wanted to say what was on his mind.

Charlie looked far too curious, so Dean sighed and forced out his thought: “I don’t wanna be older than Cas.”

“Cas?” Charlie looked surprised. “Don’t you mean Sam?”

“Why Sam? I’m already older than Sam.”

“No, I mean...” Charlie looked at Dean strangely, calculatingly. “Why Cas?”

Dean offered an awkward smile. “I dunno.”

Charlie was not like Cas; she could figure out when Dean was telling lies without any squinting or head-tilting whatsoever. “You _do_ know.”

Dean licked his lips slowly, unable to meet her eyes. “I like – being the younger one. Or just being around the same age as him. That’s right for us. If one of us was much older—” Dean frowned, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. He noticed his legs were tense and his hands were gripping his inner thighs. He breathed out in a rush. “It’d be weird, that’s all.”

“Dean,” Charlie smiled. “Have you got a crush on Cas?”

Dean squeezed his thighs tighter. “What? _No_ ,” he said, defensively. (That meant _yes_.)

Charlie knew. She didn’t say anything.

  
**☆**  
  



	4. Doggy Style

**{ PART II }  
**

Dean didn’t want to let go of Sam, not for a second.

“I’ll be okay,” Sam said, his voice muffled by Dean’s shoulder. They were the same height now, but by the time they next saw each other, there was no doubt Sam would be taller. He’d been growing like a beanstalk for the past five years. Now he was finally graduating, and Dean might not see him for months.

Dean sniffed as he pulled away. “Don’t forget to write to me every day.”

“Every _day_?” Sam looked appalled. “I barely talk to you every day!”

“And that was a mistake,” Dean said, in complete seriousness. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we grew apart like that.” He rubbed up and down Sam’s long, lanky arms, trying to memorise everything about him now. “You’ve been busy with your F.R.O.G.s, I’ve had Cas and Baby Batman to look after...”

Dean trailed off, knowing he was just making excuses. “I didn’t realise how quickly the time would pass,” he said, looking into Sam’s dewy eyes, seeing his own face reflected in the daylight that shone through Qurdruk’s roof. “Now you’re going off to _college_. You grew up too fast.”

“No time-turner’s gonna fix that,” Sam joked, but Dean didn’t smile. Sam sighed. “I’ll miss you too.”

Dean brought Sam in for another hug, this time squeezing hard. He sniffled, not caring that it was loud. His baby brother was leaving and Dean could’ve cried for days. He probably would.

Dean wiped his nose on Sam’s hoodie, making Sam make disgusted noises. But Dean grinned, batting Sam’s cheek. “It’s just the way you _would_ do things, isn’t it?” Dean said. “You leave and you take half our baseball team with you.”

“You can’t complain about the house elves handing in their notice,” Sam rolled his eyes. “They were offered opportunities, so they took them.”

“I looked at the exit roster,” Dean said. “Twelve of them are retiring, six are taking maternity leave, four paternity leave, and the other eleven are taking up jobs with witches and wizards in Muggle cities. That only leaves—” Dean glanced at his fingers and counted, “thirty-three house elves. Frick. We can’t play zen baseball with thirty-three house elves.”

“Zen baseball isn’t even a thing,” Sam laughed. “You’re meant to have _two_ teams, in _opposition_.”

“But we like playing on the same team, knocking balls into the outfield,” Dean argued. “We take turns.”

“Well, your turn will come around quicker now, won’t it?” Sam smiled.

He let Dean noogie his head, because it might be the last time he’d be able to reach. They patted each other’s back, then turned to look around the common room.

Everyone in Qurdruk was saying their goodbyes too. There was a real sense of finality today; all of the art had come down from the walls, and all the beds had been stripped. Trunks sat at the students’ feet, and their familiars were locked safely in their cages on top. Hugs and addresses were passed around, and a few tears were shed.

Subdued, Dean edged out of the common room, pulling Sam’s trunk for him. Sam carried his toad’s terrarium in one hand, walking in silence at Dean’s side.

“You will write, won’t you?” Dean asked, as they neared the school’s front hall. Several dozen people were waiting there already, some sitting on their luggage, some standing.

“I’ll write when I can,” Sam said. “Magical law is one of the most study-intensive courses they offer in Nebraska, so it might be hard to find the time.” He caught sight of Dean’s worried expression, and he smiled. “C’mon, I’m not gonna _not_ write, am I?”

Dean grinned in relief. “Okay. Good.”

When the hall was packed completely, the house elves opened up the huge front door. It was a strange and magical door: when the students walked out, they seemed to walk into the sky and vanish. But when Dean and Sam walked out, the gravity shifted and their feet landed on hot sand, so hot that Dean felt it through his boots.

Immediately he undid his waistcoat, rolled up his sleeves and removed his cravat; summer in the Arizona desert was no place for fine tailored clothing. Sam took off his hoodie. He was more of a Muggle than Dean when it came to clothes. The older Dean got, the more he wanted to look fantastic. Jeans and scruffy plaid shirts didn’t do it for him any more. This way, he felt like he was dressing up every day, and the fun never went out of it.

...Except, some days, waistcoats and tailored pants weren’t fun to put on at all. But he tried not to think about that. He focused on Sam again, watching nothing but his little brother as they came to the phoenix carriages.

The carriages were set up like a train at a station, bang in the middle of the quarry. Each carriage could’ve been a repurposed streetcar from San Francisco for how similar they looked. Red sides, intricate gold patterns; open walk-on doors and rectangular windows with rounded corners. Each carriage had a roof that overhung by a few inches, and all the roofs were connected by thick black wire. Phoenixes perched on railings at the top, four birds for each carriage.

Dean gripped Sam’s shoulder and patted him. “This is it.”

Sam looked around, over the heads of the crowd. “Where’s Cas and Professor Bradbury? I thought they’d be here by now.”

“They’ll be here.”

Sam grinned. “There they are.”

Dean looked where Sam’s head had turned, and he smiled. Castiel had arrived in ankle-length white pants, and a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up. Charlie was wearing a sleeveless purple vest with rainbow tassels hanging from every edge. They looked like they were on vacation at a beach somewhere. They shook the hands of students, bidding them farewell.

“Aren’t you meant to be doing that?” Sam asked, glancing at Dean.

Dean swallowed. “But what about you? Who’s looking after you?”

“Dean, I’m eighteen, and it’s a phoenix carriage full of children,” Sam grinned. “Go on. The people in my Charms class will probably want to hug you or something. Some of them’ll miss you more than I will.”

Feeling sullen, Dean gave Sam one last hug. “Take care, little brother.”

“And you,” Sam said. “Do something fun with Cas this summer. He ought to get out of the castle.”

Dean smiled. And then he was pulled aside by a weeping student who was heartbroken that she had to leave. Every student here was like a younger sibling to him, and when he said goodbye, he devoted his attention and love to each of them the way he had for Sam.

By the time everyone was off the sandy platform and onto the carriages, the teachers were the only ones left standing there, waving to the students who waved back through the open windows.

Dean had been on those carriages as a passenger a grand total of seven times, once arriving, and three times each way for school outings. As a teacher of three years he’d seen off the students plenty of times, at the end of every term – but this was the first time he cried. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he didn’t stop it.

Charlie held his hand, and Dean didn’t mind that she felt him shaking. When the phoenixes lifted up the carriages, forming an awesome floating snake that rose into the sky, Dean felt his heart shatter.

His only brother was leaving. For the first time in their entire lives, Dean and Sam were apart.

Castiel took hold of Dean’s other hand. He held it tight, and he made Dean feel strong again.

Not by much.

But it did help.

  
**☆**  
  


Once all the teachers had packed their bags and gotten on the teachers’ private carriage, Dean and Castiel were left alone in the castle. Just them and thirty-three house elves remaining.

They’d heard rumours over the years that there was a caretaker living somewhere on the castle grounds, but nobody had ever seen him. Or her. Or them. They’d seen ghosts and they’d seen peculiar creatures which really ought not be loose around a school, but they’d never seen a caretaker.

After Dean and Castiel’s third year of teaching, it had become clear that they themselves were the caretakers. The house elves did the tidying and the cooking and they unblocked the toilets, but Dean and Cas made sure the house elves were happy. They _took care_ of them. That made them caretakers.

The ballfield looked rather empty now forty-two of the seventy-five house elves had left. As far as real ballfields went, it was thoroughly overcrowded, but Dean prefered his field crowded. There was more chance of the ball being caught the first time.

“You know, something occurred to me this morning,” Dean said, wrapping his hand around his baseball bat.

“What’s that?” Castiel asked, walking beside him as they made their way across the sand. Castiel tossed the white ball in his hand, dust poofing out from his palm when the ball fell.

“I don’t think I understood baseball all that well.” Dean took his place on the scuffed-up block that served as their home plate. “I was eleven when I came to Jinxes. I learned baseball from homeless kids, who learned it from other homeless kids. I don’t think anyone I met had ever seen a real baseball game.”

“But your version of it works,” Castiel said, spinning the ball on the tip of his finger before letting it drop to his hand. “Nobody cares if it’s proper. It’s zen.”

“That’s what I kept saying to Sam,” Dean grinned. He gripped his bat with two hands and set his feet apart, wriggling his hips in preparation. “Go on, get your ass to the plate and pitch me a fast one.”

Castiel touched Dean’s shoulder gently, then stalked off with purpose towards the centre of the marked-out diamond. The thirty-three house elves sensed the game was about to begin, and they scattered across the quarry. Some went as far as the cliff edges, but most stayed within the marked border.

Dean marvelled how unlikely it was that he’d pulled batter at the same time as Castiel pulled pitcher, but then, he supposed, the chances of it happening had doubled since yesterday. Sam was gone and—

“Hey!” Dean yelled across the field. “I wasn’t ready!”

The ball had shot right past him, and Dean looked back to see a grey, hook-nosed elf pick it up. The elf – Skeet – tossed it straight to Bixie, who threw it to Kilns.

“Foul ball!” Castiel shouted.

“You know that’s right,” Dean muttered darkly. He turned to the side and got in position again, holding tight to his bat and wriggling his hips, shifting his weight.

Castiel caught the ball as it was tossed to him, and he chucked it into the air a couple of times, testing its weight. Then he drew back, ready to throw—

The ball shot at Dean and he twisted his arms back to hit it. He felt the ball connect to his bat, and he watched the white dot whizz off towards the Astronomy tower. A dozen elves sprinted after it, and Dean dropped his bat and took off around the diamond. Sand shot up inside his pant legs as he rounded first base, skimming it with his fingers. He reached second base and nearly tripped over it, but the tap of his toe counted as touching it, so he moved on to third base, glancing at Castiel to see what he was doing, only to hear a cheer from the house elves as he was caught out.

Dean jogged to a halt, feeling a bead of sweat run down his back. Castiel was grinning, holding up the ball. “Out!” he called.

“Puh!” Dean said, running his dusty hand down his face. It was sweltering out here.

Dragging his feet away, Dean watched Skink take up residence on the home plate. Dean let the game go on while he wandered off, going to the refreshment table and pouring himself a tall glass of sour lemonade. He drank it down with great relish, smacking his lips when the glass was empty.

“You’re getting clumsy,” Rinker said from behind the refreshment table. He stood there cutting up orange slices, giving Dean a judgemental look.

“It’s hot,” Dean said.

“You’re distracted,” Rinker said. “If anything’s hot, it’s _him_.”

“What?”

Rinker looked pointedly at the ballfield, his tatty ears flapping. Dean turned his eyes to see what Rinker meant, and the first thing Dean saw was Castiel, dressed in his baseball whites, his shirt open to the waist, his sleeves loose and his hair a mess. Dean’s heart seemed to flip in his chest.

Dean looked back at Rinker, glaring. He poured himself another glass of lemonade, feeling bitter.

“Like I said,” Rinker smiled, his pointed teeth glinting with reflections from the glassware. “You’re distracted.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, pal,” Dean said, handing over his dirty glass. With a quirked eyebrow, Dean smirked, “I’m about as focused as I could get.”

And with that, he turned away and took his place in the outfield, waiting for a ball to fly in his direction.

The game was over when everyone but Rinker had had their turn at batting. It was a long game, but it didn’t take nearly as long as it used to take. Before, with seventy-seven or seventy-eight players (that is, when Sam was playing too), the games would be over when everyone got too hot and tired and achy to catch a ball or take a step without falling over. After games like those, Dean slept like a log.

Now warm evening shadows fell across the quarry, draping everything in a faint purple. Rinker had packed up his refreshment table, and most of the elves had gone inside. A few lingered, sitting together and laughing, while Dean and Castiel hung around at the two plates, pitching balls to each other. Voices echoed the way they only did in summer, quiet, but carrying perfectly.

The house elf named Skink came up to Dean, and Dean looked down at the little guy. Dean glanced up once to catch the ball Castiel threw, then he held onto it as Skink waited. “What’s up?” Dean asked.

“Why does Master Castiel never bat?” Skink asked, folding his blotchy, leathery arms.

Dean pressed his lips into an arch. “Dunno. Why do you never catch the ball when it’s in the outfield?”

“Because I’m no good at catching without using magic,” Skink answered.

Dean tossed the ball to Castiel’s waiting hands, then raised his hand to catch it again as it came back. “What’s your point?” Dean asked Skink.

“How does Master Castiel know he’s no good at batting if he’s never tried it?”

Dean looked down at the ball he held, thumbing its red stitching. “Good question.”

“If you get him to stand here, I’ll pitch,” Skink said.

Dean smiled slyly at the bat-eared elf. “This is just a ploy so you can pitch, isn’t it?”

“Is that a crime? Before today my turn to pitch only came around once every seventy-five games. Which was exactly four times in the past four years.”

“Fair point.” Dean threw the ball back to Castiel, who caught it overarm and returned it underarm in the same movement. Dean leapt to catch it, and he handed it straight to Skink. “Go tell Cas that Professor Winchester wants to see him at the home plate _right away_.”

Skink pattered off on his bare feet, a gleeful look in his overlarge elfish eyes.

Castiel looked confused as Skink got to him, but then he grinned, and Dean grinned too, watching Castiel stride to him across the ballfield, picking the bat up from the sand along the way. Whenever he had the space to walk fast in a straight line, Castiel walked in long steps, sweeping eddies of dust up behind him like he had a pair of invisible wings stretched wide at his back. He’d look good in a long coat, Dean thought. Something that billowed.

Castiel reached Dean, and he looked every bit as rumpled as he did from afar. His tan was exquisite, and the darkness of his skin made his blue eyes look nothing short of ravishing. He looked at Dean sweetly. “I was told you wanted to teach me something.”

“Is that what Skink said?” Dean grinned. “Stand here.” Dean stepped back, and he took Castiel by the back of the hips and pushed him up to the plate. “You’re gonna hit some baseballs.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“I know. That’s why you’re doing it now.”

Castiel seemed unsure about how to hold the bat, but he got a decent grip before Skink pitched him a slow overarm ball. Castiel gasped and swung wildly, pre-empting a hit, instead swinging so low that he almost got Dean’s knee.

“Whoa!” Dean leapt back. “Watch it.”

“Sorry,” Castiel said. He set his feet steady and wriggled his hips the way Dean did, which Dean found mesmerising to watch from behind.

Dean closed his mouth, dragging his eyes to Skink, who was holding the ball again. He must’ve used house elf magic to snap it back to him, since nobody else was even standing up. A dozen pairs of eyes watched them, all conversation at a low mutter.

Skink pitched Castiel a ball as slow as the last one, and Castiel jumped off the plate to hit it. The ball bonked into the bat and dropped to the sand before Castiel even swung. He sighed.

“You’ll get it,” Dean said. “Keep trying.”

“I don’t even enjoy watching sports, let alone playing them,” Castiel said.

“But you’re good at Quidditch,” Dean said, watching a third ball whoosh right past Castiel’s shoulder.

“Quidditch is different. As a Keeper I just catch – past tense; caught – I caught what came my way.” He hit a ball, but he twisted his arm awkwardly and had to shake it out. By that point the ball had rolled away, leaving a long track through the sand.

“Batting in baseball is essentially the same,” Dean tried. “Look at it this way: the bat is a long wooden arm. You gotta catch the ball. That’s all.”

Castiel wriggled his hips again, taking a deep breath. Skink pitched a fifth ball, and this time, Castiel moved his bat in time to hit it. Except it bounced off the bat and straight into his face.

“Gah—”

Dean laughed, coming up behind Castiel to straighten him from his folded-over position. “C’mere. It wasn’t fast... Here, let me take a look.” Castiel rubbed his cheek, turning his face to Dean. “Ah, just a bit red. Put some ice on it when we go in, it’ll be fine. Bet it won’t even bruise.”

Castiel rubbed his face once more, then readied himself for another ball.

“Hey... Can I try somethin’?” Dean asked, feeling bold.

“Okay,” Castiel said, even though he didn’t know what Dean was planning. That was one hell of an expression of trust, Dean thought.

Wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, Dean came up behind Castiel, feeling an immense heat, both from himself and from Castiel. Where Dean’s belly pressed up against Castiel’s back, they surely started a fire.

“Uh,” Dean said, blinking himself alert. He touched his hands to Castiel’s hips, then slowly slid both around his waist, patting forward to find the bat. He wrapped his torso all the way around Castiel, holding the bat along with him. Dean’s crotch was pressed to Castiel’s ass. What toned, well-padded buttocks he had.

“What’s this position called?” Castiel asked.

“What?”

“In baseball. This training position, what’s it called?”

Dean’s lips parted. “Oh... Uh.” He flushed. “Doggy style?”

“Doggy style,” Castiel repeated. “That’s nice. I like dogs.”

Dean bit his lip, so glad Castiel couldn’t see him blush. “Yeah. I— I like dogs too. Sort of.”

Skink’s scratchy voice echoed across from the pitcher’s plate, “Are you ready yet?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah!”

Skink threw a slow ball, and Dean swung the bat for Castiel.

“Oh!” Castiel cried in delight, watching the ball sail off in an easy curve, flying high above the quarry. “Oh, it’s just like magic.”

Dean laughed, headbutting the back of Castiel’s neck. “Sure,” he grinned, looking up at the nape of Castiel’s neck, resting his chin below his shirt collar. “Just like magic.”

They hit a second ball the same way, then another and another, and Castiel laughed every time, always enjoying the hard knock they could give the ball if they worked together.

“Now you try,” Dean said softly, letting Castiel control the bat, though he still held on. “You can hit this one yourself.”

Skink threw the ball. Now Castiel knew how Dean moved, he swung gently and purposefully, and the bat connected with the ball. It wasn’t a firm hit, and it bounced down a short distance away, but Castiel jumped for joy. He jumped twice, rubbing against Dean’s crotch both times. Dean let out a quiet “Auh...”, forced to let go of the bat and quickly readjust his pants before Castiel turned around.

Castiel’s eyes were bright and his smile was carefree, his straight upper teeth showing in a grin. “I love this,” he said, clearly meaning it. “ _And_ I love you,” he added.

Dean’s look of astonishment was never seen, for Castiel turned around straight away and hit the ball Skink pitched him with a hard, _fast_ swing. Castiel leapt high, cheering, “WHOO! YEAH.” The ball whistled through the air and hit the clay side of the quarry, breaking off a mess of ancient plant roots which then scattered to the dust along with the ball.

Dean stood beside him, smiling genuinely when Castiel glanced his way. But Dean was still so stunned by Castiel’s words that he completely missed the next ball that Skink threw, and the next thing Dean knew, Castiel’s bat was flying at his head and then there was a thump—

  
**☆**  
  


“And _that_ is why nobody oughta leave you idjits by yourselves in a castle for six weeks,” Bobby Singer said, dabbing a cool cloth on Dean’s forehead. “One day alone and there’s trouble. I was halfway back to Sioux Falls when a goddamn _house elf_ lands on my truck. Had to store the truck in a overpriced Muggle parking lot and let the elf transport me back. And there’s nothing I hate more than Apparating via house elf. Except overpriced Muggle parking lots.”

“Mmme too,” Dean slurred, blinking dazedly from his bed in the hospital wing. “Heyyy, I know you.”

“Yeah, good for you, kiddo. I’m the one who stopped up all your nosebleeds over the years. Not to mention fixed five broken bones, healed up countless burns and turned your ears back into ears. You _better_ remember me.”

Dean blinked harder, shifting back in his bed. The Patron helped him sit up, stuffing a pillow behind his back. Dean looked around, squinting at the candlelit hospital wing. There was nobody else in sight. “Where’s Cas?”

“Cas? He felt so bad about what he did – as he should – he had to go seek solace or pray for forgiveness. Hell knows. I think he’s in the bathroom, wallowin’ in regret.”

Dean felt a thud in his chest, a too-hard heartbeat. “I’m okay! You gotta tell him I’m okay.”

“Tell him yourself,” Bobby said, scowling. “I ain’t an owl.”

“But—” Dean tried to get out of bed, but Bobby pushed him back.

“No. You’re staying there.”

“Then how... how am I meant to tell him I’m ahh... okh.. okay? Hummh?”

Bobby gave a weary sigh, then reached up and adjusted his dark blue baseball cap over his grey hair. He most likely knew less about baseball than Dean did, but Dean couldn’t imagine him without his hat.

“Fine,” Bobby said eventually. “But your tush stays _here_.”

“Done,” Dean said, hands raised. Bobby turned around and left.

Dean’s eyesight wavered, so he sank back to rest his throbbing head. He frowned. He didn’t remember being hit, and he barely felt any pain now. He reached up, and was surprised to feel a bandage around his head.

Bobby was a squib, not a wizard; he relied on potions and rituals and Muggle surgery techniques to heal his patients, although during term time he had help from magic folks. At Jinxes, Dean’s injuries were bandaged up the same way they’d been when he’d lived in Muggle society. Better, though, because Bobby actually cared.

Although Castiel was Potions master around here, either he or the house elves must’ve panicked when Dean got injured. Dean didn’t know if he himself would be able to think clearly if he injured Castiel. Getting a level-headed third party involved seemed the way to go. Dean was nothing but grateful for Bobby’s help.

But Castiel had probably made himself sick with worry for Dean in the meantime, and that thought made Dean feel queasy.

Actually... that might be something else making him queasy.

Bobby came back just as Dean finished heaving his stomach empty, and he rubbed Dean’s back soothingly while Dean washed his face and mouth in the nearest washbasin. “It’s the Skele-Gro Fracture Repair,” Bobby said. “Good thing you were out cold when I gave you the first lot, or you would’ve coughed up a lot sooner.”

“Uhhrhhh,” Dean said, flopping back to his bed. “Why’re you trying to re-grow my skull?”

“Not the whole thing, just healin’ up a fracture,” Bobby said. “Stick it out a few hours, kid. It shouldn’t take long. Lucky for you, Skink says the concussion’s only minor. I’m not letting you sleep long tonight, mind.”

“Wha... Is Skink a nurse now? He’d make a... purrrty nurse.”

Bobby snorted. “He checked you over before I arrived. He’s been studying medicine this past year. As weird as I find this house elf revolution... hell, it’d be handy to have someone permanent around here with more magic than I have. Someone to patch you up during vacation.”

Bobby sat down on the bed adjacent to Dean, hands on his knees. “Welp, here comes trouble.”

“Dean?” came an unsure voice from the other side of the room.

Dean turned his head, spying the blurry image of Castiel approaching from between the rows of beds. “Heyy,” Dean grinned. “How are ya, sweetiepie?”

Castiel breathed. “Uhm.”

“I love you,” Dean smiled, feeling all floopy at the sight of his friend. “You... You’re my favourite... teacher...”

“Dean?”

“We’re losing him.” Bobby patted Dean’s shoulder. “Hey, kid. Wake up. Your boyfriend’s trying to talk to you.”

“‘m awake,” Dean slurred. He smacked his lips together, staring blearily at the ceiling of candles. “I think. Wait, am I dead?”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said softly, sitting on Dean’s bed. His hand stroked Dean’s cheek, and Dean felt a fierce tingle run through his skin. “You’re very much alive, and you can’t begin to know how thankful I am.”

“Geez, are you two puppy love central or what?” Bobby muttered. “Dean would’ve been fine even if you left him lying in the dust all night. He’s a tough nut.”

“Even so,” Castiel said. He stroked Dean’s cheek again, and Dean smiled. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“I forgive you, baby angel,” Dean said, kissing Castiel’s hand, breathing out against his fingers. “Mmm.”

“Hmph,” Bobby said. “You know _relationships_ between teachers ain’t allowed here. Though I don’t suppose either of you are the type to care.”

Castiel gave a soft, nervous laugh. “I— I think Dean’s possibly a little delirious. He’s never called me... a-anything like that before.”

“Sure he hasn’t,” Bobby uttered, getting up and walking away. “I’ll give you some privacy, how ‘bout that.”

Though Dean could barely see, he sensed that Castiel was almost certainly blushing.

“I just said that to get rid of the old man,” Dean smirked, struggling to wink. “Now I can tell you how pretty you are, and he won’t know I think you’re pretty.”

“Ahh... Hm,” Castiel said. “Dean, I think... perhaps... I should leave. You’re saying things you don’t mean.”

“What?! I mean it,” Dean said, blinking hard to keep his tired eyes open. “I think you’re cute. And you smell like the Fountain Room.”

“I was in there a minute ago,” Castiel said. “Wishing. Wishing you’d pull through.”

Dean bit his lip. “I wish at the fountain too.”

“What do you wish for?”

Dean took a breath, wanting to answer. Deep inside, he knew he was being more open than he would usually be. Saying things he’d regret later. But despite his current state of mind, there was still a filter in place. He couldn’t answer the question; the truth was too deeply protected.

“Nothing important,” Dean said.

Castiel quickly accepted that he wouldn’t hear the truth. “I wish for silly things too.”

“Bet they’re not as silly as you think,” Dean murmured, feeling sleep try to claim him. He didn’t fight it.

“No,” Castiel agreed. His warm hand stroked through Dean’s hair. He leaned in close, and he kissed Dean’s forehead. “In some ways, they’re probably very respectable wishes. Occasionally I think they might even come true, someday.”

Dean, comforted by Castiel’s presence, allowed himself to fall asleep. He was still partially aware of his surroundings when he felt Castiel leave his bedside, and he vaguely heard Castiel tell Bobby, “Dean’s fallen asleep.” He heard Bobby return, and he heard the nearby bed creak under the old man’s weight.

And Dean sensed Castiel leave the hospital wing. As soon as he was gone, Dean missed him.

But he soon slipped into a dream – and in the dream, Castiel was right beside him, holding him close.

  
**☆**  
  



	5. Improper Thoughts

Castiel lay in bed, staring at the draped cloth over him. His curtains were drawn except on one side, and upon the nightstand there, a candle glowed in flickers. A small flowering cactus sat in a pot beside the candle, and on the floor beside the nightstand was Moosh’s bird cage. Castiel had transfigured the cage to a far larger size once he got his private quarters, three whole years ago. At the moment, Moosh was sound asleep in her nest.

Castiel stared at the flickering candle, eyes half-closed against the golden glare. In his mind he replayed tonight’s game of baseball, the softness of lilac light and the gentle waft of sound against his ears. The smell of dust, the smell of dried sweat. Dean’s dirty hands, somehow not repulsive as they gripped the bat for him.

Then the accident—

Castiel flinched and rolled over in bed, pulling the blanket over him. Dean was still down in the hospital wing with Bobby. Castiel had tried to sneak back in to bring Dean a packet of Bertie Bott’s All-American Every Flavor Beans, which he’d had stashed away in his trunk, but Bobby said food would disrupt his healing, and company could disrupt Bobby’s own sanity.

So Castiel had been kicked out. He went to bed, but he couldn’t sleep.

He tried to focus on the good part of the evening. Having Dean’s arms around his waist, helping him hit the ball like that. Castiel decided he liked training doggy style. There was something about it he liked, in particular...

...Something...

Castiel’s eyes flickered shut, and he squirmed in his bed, flooded with a warm, exciting feeling. He felt too hot – unbearably hot; a spectacular blaze had begun in his lower belly, and he smiled, mouth open, letting out a soft murmur of “ _Oh_...”

Dean’s hands... His body against Castiel’s back, his smell—

Castiel gasped, flopping straight onto his back and staring wide-eyed at the drapes. His gaze dropped lower, and he peered down his body, between his legs. The blanket was raised up.

Frowning, Castiel lifted the blanket. His pyjama pants were stretched out. He had an erection.

“What?” Castiel breathed. He looked over at Moosh in a panic, but Moosh was asleep. Castiel looked at himself again, still feeling the tingle and the ache. He’d had erections before, and he’d felt aroused before – sort of – but never like this. Never _because_ of something. Never because of a _person_.

Worried and anxious, Castiel pulled his spare pillow from under his head and slipped it below the blanket. He wrapped his legs around it and pressed the cold side firmly against his crotch, hoping the chill would make the swelling go down. Only, he wished the pressure wasn’t so thrilling, and he didn’t feel the impulse to hump the pillow. He whimpered gently, eyes falling shut. His frown slowly relaxed, and he sighed, rubbing the pillow against himself.

Though it was cold, he sighed in pleasure. His hips angled up, and he bucked into the pillow, crying out, “Muhh—”

He blushed.

He’d never made a noise like that before, not once in his life.

Embarrassed, Castiel rolled onto his front and drew the last curtain shut around his bed. He didn’t want Moosh to know what he was doing. The space became dark and cozy... and intimate.

Cautiously, Castiel knelt, and he pushed his pyjama pants down. He looked at his erection, trying not to feel shame. He’d always wondered what other people did when they had erections, and now he had a chance to find out. In his near twenty-two years, he’d never really known.

But he felt so... strange. He almost didn’t want to do anything. He didn’t want to think about Dean that way – Dean was just a friend. A beloved friend – a close, romantic friend – but Castiel had never felt any inclination to take his clothes off for him. Castiel covered his face, physically shaking at all the memories in his head, times he’d gone out of his way to touch Dean, or to make Dean touch him back.

Castiel dropped his hands and leaned forward, driven by an urge; he _thrust_ against the pillow, gasping loud. He pushed his face into his other pillow, groaning as pleasure twisted within him. Real, sensual pleasure.

Castiel looked down, and though he couldn’t see much, there was enough candlelight sneaking through a crack in the curtains to let him see the shine at the slit of his erection. He reached down to touch it; it was warm, wet, and sticky. He lifted it to his face and sniffed it, expecting to wince... but it wasn’t bad. It smelled neutral.

He licked it, and it was bitter. He didn’t mind the taste.

He wondered if Dean liked the taste of himself. Then he wondered if Dean would like the taste of Castiel.

Castiel shivered, putting the pillow firmly between his thighs and squeezing. He squeezed so hard he cried out in a breath, mesmerised by the pressure. With every muscle below his waist held stiff, he humped into the pillow; his hands and feet turned weak, his eyes went blind; he arched his back up and he drove himself down, one free hand pushing the pillow harder into himself.

This was what people called fucking, he realised. He was fucking his pillow.

He let it happen, he let himself hum soft noises, and he felt sudden smiles rise up, he felt blissed-out frowns crease down. His mouth moved slack and a hot sweat broke across his lower back, and all the while he squeezed his legs, fucking and fucking and _fucking_. He didn’t know where to insert Dean into this scenario, but he wanted him to be there. He wanted Dean to witness his pleasure and he wanted to witness Dean’s.

He wanted to be sexually intimate with Dean, Castiel realised.

A moan fell from his lips as he sped up his brutal thrusts. He snarled, one hand reaching out to grip the headboard of his bed. It began to shake as he moved, hitting the wall – _thump, thump, thump_ – and he grunted on every thrust, panting, sweating, folding forward and arching up, head rolled back against his shoulders, then down to his chest, face pushed to the other pillow to muffle his moan.

When he came, he came silently; his breath halted halfway in, halfway out. Every muscle in his body was tense, and all his awareness centred on one feeling: a hot rush flowed from him into the pillow, into a fold of damp, friction-hot cloth.

His eyes were open wide now, but he still couldn’t breathe. He was shivering, and he was still tense.

He just _came_.

That was an orgasm.

“ _Oh_ ,” Castiel whimpered. The fireworks inside him fizzled out, though the light remained in his inner skies, something which felt impossible. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to relax.

But he had to relax; he was exhausted. He collapsed face-first onto his mattress.

He breathed softly, taking a full minute to recover. His pillow felt sticky, and it was still touching him.

Swallowing down his shame for ruining a perfectly good pillow, and for thinking such inappropriate things about his friend, Castiel rolled himself over onto his back. He grimaced and wiped himself up with the soiled pillow, then slid it down to the foot of the bed with his knees, then his toes. He didn’t want to look at what he’d done.

But he was curious...

Gingerly, he put a hand on his hip bone. It was hotter than he’d ever felt it before. His fingers inched inward, and Castiel stroked his pubic hair. Touching it felt more exciting than usual. Felt _sexy_.

Castiel grinned. He felt sexy.

He’d never felt sexy in his life.

Castiel closed his eyes and touched his penis, feeling how it had gone soft. It was sensitive, and incredibly hot. Castiel played with it, smiling at the way it flopped about now it was empty. He thought about Dean’s penis, imagining how it might feel in the same state. Dean’s penis was probably larger; Castiel felt it pushing on his buttocks earlier this evening. It had felt a lot less soft than this.

Castiel’s mind drifted to Dean, resting alone in the hospital wing. Castiel imagined sneaking in there, seeing half the candles extinguished for the night. He imagined himself pulling the covers back... sitting on Dean’s bed, stroking his face to wake him.

And Dean would see him, and smile... then slowly get an erection, his sex filling up with blood until it rested thick on his belly and tented his gown...

And Dean would bashfully ask Castiel to touch it...

And Castiel would do it how Dean liked it, and they’d kiss each other’s faces and lie down to hug...

“What... What’s happening to me?” Castiel asked himself under his breath. He searched the dark drapes for answers but even Moosh was silent. “Why am I...?”

Something was very, very different tonight. Castiel had changed, deep inside. Part of the change felt natural – he’d loved Dean for some time – but this was fearsome, new, and sudden.

Castiel needed to ask someone what was going on. Someone who knew more than he did.

  
**☆**  
  



	6. Letters

_Dear Charlie,_

_I’m writing because... Well. I’m not sure how to say this. This is going to be a very personal letter, I trust you won’t mind. I’m hoping you (or your mother) could offer some advice, or insights into what’s happening to me._

_I’ve realised something about myself very recently. Last night, in fact. It started when I accidentally hit Dean with a baseball bat. (He’s fine, he was walking around today and he ate all my Bertie Bott’s All-American Every Flavor Beans. Even the firework-flavoured one.) Patron Singer banned me from the hospital wing overnight, so of course I was buzzing with worry until I was allowed to see him in the morning._

_But worry wasn’t the only thing I felt last night._

_See, earlier, Dean had been teaching me baseball, and how to hit the ball with the bat, and he and I assumed the doggy style position for training purposes. This is where it gets personal. I could feel... At least, I think... I think he had a bit of an erection. At the time I liked that a lot, and I thought about it when I went to bed, and I..._

_I’m blushing terribly as I write this. I had to hide in my bathroom because the house elves are cleaning my room at the moment and I know they’re going to find the pillow I ruined. I cleaned it with magic but I know they’ll_ know _. I feel so awful. I feel sick and I’m so worried I’ve done something wrong. Charlie, I’ve never felt this for anyone before. You know how much I love Dean, that’s a secret to nobody. He and I even said so last night – they were flippant confessions, and Dean was perhaps more than a little delirious when he replied, but I have no doubt we share a profound bond. I don’t know if his love is romantic, but mine certainly is._

_But after exactly three years and two days of knowing each other, why now? Why has he never made me aroused before? I love his smell and I love his face, but I’ve never been so curious about taking his clothes off, nor anything like that._

_Perhaps I should tell you more about my sexuality, so you have a better picture._

_Essentially I have had no sexuality until now. Other boys were learning about touching themselves even in our first and second year at Jinxes, but I never felt the inclination. I tried a few times but I didn’t like it. I’d have an erection in the mornings but after a few years that stopped, and I was relieved._

_I never liked girls. Or boys. I’d say it was a blessing in disguise that my autism prevented me from figuring out when people were flirting with me. But they didn’t seem to like when I didn’t get their hints._

_I used to look at pictures of women, or girls in my class, and I’d pretend I was attracted to them, trying to imagine what it was like. Then I’d assure myself that imagining what it was like and actually feeling that way were the same thing, and I was the same as everyone else. (Of course it wasn’t true, I see that now. At the time I thought it was.)_

_In sixth year, when Miranda Mellow asked if I was dating anyone, I said I was in love with a witch from another school. That wasn’t true either. It didn’t occur to me until after I finished school how ridiculous that was. All I had to say was “I’m not attracted to people” but that never came to mind. Everyone was attracted to_ somebody _. I just never considered that I wasn’t._

_Until Dean, I’d never fallen in love. It took over a year before I understood why he made my heart race, but when I figured it out, I didn’t mind. It wasn’t scary, it was a relief. I felt normal, because normal people fall in love all the time._

_But then last night, everything changed. Sexual attraction is hugely different to love for me. I don’t know what to make of it. I want it to stop and I want to go back to the way I was. It’s scaring me, wanting to see Dean naked. Or even wanting him to see_ me _naked. I was comfortable just being around him because I loved him, I enjoyed his company for the sake of my emotions, but now I feel dissatisfied, and guilty because of it. I shouldn’t want this. (Should I?)_

_This is the one normal feeling I don’t want to have. Is there a potion to make it stop? I don’t have anything in my books (I checked) and I’m busy enough trying to make my secret potion. (Progress on that is still nil, by the way.)_

_Anyway, that’s all. I’m going to join Dean for lunch in a few minutes, and I’ll post this then. I hope you’re having fun with your mother in Bermuda. Say hello to her from me._

_Love Castiel. x_

  
**☆**  
  


_Heya, Cas._

_Okay, whoa. That was a lot of information. Sit back and let Mama Bradbury sort you out. (I showed your letter to my mom and that was what she said. She’s such a dork. I hope I’m like her when I’m fifty-something.)_

_First thing me and mom both agreed on, Cas, was this: DON’T PANIC. What you’re feeling is perfectly natural._

_Second off... You remember when you and me sat in the Astronomy tower and talked about sexuality? And there were things I told you about myself, that I only like girls, blah blah blah. And we talked about how most people are straight, but some people are gay, and there’s some bisexual people who like two or more genders, and some pansexual people who don’t really mind. And some asexuals who don’t like anyone in a sexy way. You said that was you._

_But I’m here to tell you that THINGS CHANGE. It’s okay._

_What you’re describing sounds like demisexuality. “Demi”, as in “half”. A demisexual person only develops sexual feelings for someone if they form a deep emotional (or romantic) connection with them first._

_In your case, with Dean, you only began to feel sexually attracted after a long long (very long) relationship with him. I don’t think it really matters whether your relationship is romantic or not, since sometimes sexual attraction happens when people aren’t in love. (And that’s perfectly natural too.) Demisexual people can be gay, straight, bi or pan, of any gender, and any sex._

_Basically, Cas, you have nothing to worry about. Please don’t take any libido-dampening potions. You don’t need to change yourself with magic before you can be content with who you are inside, Cas, I promise! I know you’re feeling uncomfy about this whole thing but I’m sure you’ll come to be okay with it, in time. It’s a part of you and it’s nothing to be scared of. All I can do is assure you it gets better. (That’s something Muggles say a lot, but I do mean it)._

_Always remember, you’re in a safe environment. And you have almost three months until the new term starts to get your bearings, lucky you._

_I’m sorry you had to go through all that bother as a kid. I was nearly the same, assuming I liked boys and not realising I didn’t. In hindsight I was always gay, I just took a long time to notice. ‘Gay’ was something_ other _people were, but I didn’t apply the theory to myself. I think that kind of thing happens to too many people, especially teenagers. It would’ve helped if I knew someone else like me, like a teacher, or a friend, a fictional character or a famous witch. But I didn’t know anyone, I only had disparaging articles in the magazines I read, and that’s how I learned._

_On that note, I’ve attached the newest issue of_ Witch Weekly _. Your subscription somehow redirected to Bermuda. I had a parrot arrive in my bedroom this morning, immediately followed by the Jinxes phoenix carrying your letter. Since Inferno was already with me, I had a crowded aviary in my room all of a sudden. Your phoenix and Inferno seem to be getting on well, making friends. I think your phoenix is a bit reluctant to go back home, really. If this letter arrives to you late, that’s why._

_Bermuda is hot and there’s OCEAN. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed seeing large expanses of water. Jinxes is great but there’s nothing like standing in the surf and watching your toes sink into soft sand. I’ve attached a few photos, so feel free to show Dean and the house elves. Disregard the one with me doing the piggy nose. My mom insisted on sending that because she’s a weirdo who likes my piggy nose._

_Hugs and kisses! See you in ten weeks!  
Love from Charlie (and Getrude)_

_P.S. “Doggy style” is a sex position. Like when dogs mate. I drew you a picture. If Dean called the reach-around “doggy style” then he was bullshitting you. Either that or you were playing baseball really,_ really _wrong._

  
**☆**  
  


Castiel stared into his cauldron.

Dean stared at Castiel.

Castiel swallowed, and he put down his powdered wormwood on the desk without sprinkling it into the mixture.

“How long you gonna wait this time?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “Maybe all night.”

Dean frowned. “But if you wait that long, the potion will die.”

Castiel bowed his head. “Exactly.”

That was when Dean figured out that something had changed. “Uh...”

“I think I’m done,” Castiel said. He brushed the powdered wormwood off his hands and got up from his stool, stepping onto the stone floor of his classroom. He reached up and cupped his hand around a group of floating candles, and he blew them out. “Come on, let’s do something else.”

“Something—” Dean watched Castiel go and wash his hands, leaving his cauldron where it was. “Something other than this secret potion?”

“Yes.” Castiel didn’t seem sad. He didn’t seem to be expressing any emotion at all. “I’m bored of this.”

Dean swivelled on his stool. “Cas...” He huffed, shaking his head. “Actually, you know what, I’m not even gonna question it. What do you wanna do?”

“I want to look at the stars,” Castiel said, sweeping up leftover ingredients into a pan held off the side of the desk. He tossed the bits into the sink and Vanished them with his wand, then looked back at Dean. “I want to see something beyond what’s in this cauldron. I want to see you again. I—” He looked away. “I miss you.” He looked back, meeting Dean’s eyes. “I feel like I’ve missed so much of our time together, while I’ve been obsessing over this.”

Dean managed a small smile. “What brought you around?”

Castiel lifted and dropped a shoulder. “Something Charlie wrote in a letter to me. But... hitting you in the head with a baseball bat, mostly. I’ve never had to face mortality like that before.”

“Cas, I wasn’t in that much danger.”

“But I worried.” Castiel’s smile was stony, appearing forced. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Dean, you’re...” Castiel looked down, frowning, his mouth downturned. “You’re everything to me.”

Dean’s heart clenched in happiness or pain, he didn’t know which. “H-How ‘bout you try sayin’ that like it’s not killing ya, buddy,” Dean said, hating that he stuttered.

Castiel smiled for real, looking up. “You _are_ everything to me, Dean. If I spend all my time thinking about this potion and its outcome – what’s the point, if someday I wake up and you’re not there to see it?”

Dean locked his hands together between his knees, sitting forward on his stool. He wanted to go to Castiel and embrace him. But he hung back, not sure if it was that sort of moment. Dean had been wrong before.

Castiel exhaled. “I, um... I’d like to do something with you. Something fun. Exciting.”

Dean sat up straighter. “You wanna go to the Astronomy tower? Best view of the stars is from there.”

Castiel shrugged again. “Actually... If we could just lie on the sand outside. That would be fine.”

Dean pushed his lips together acceptingly. “Sounds like a plan.” He hopped off his stool, collecting his waistcoat from where he’d been sitting, and he slipped it on, leaving it undone. He breathed in, realising he could smell leftover jasmine perfume on his clothes. It was gone in a moment; he hoped Castiel wouldn’t smell it.

Castiel waited halfway to the door of the Potions classroom. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled, following behind. He pulled out his wand and waved it, making Castiel’s hovering quill swoop down to rest on top of the parchment and the books.

Castiel paused at the door, and Dean stood against him, waiting...

Castiel’s attention was still on the room. Slowly, he pulled out his wand, deep in thought.

“What are you gonna do?” Dean asked. He felt Castiel breathe in, his middle pushing faintly against Dean’s.

Castiel blinked low, his mouth open. “I meant what I said,” he said quietly. His blue eyes turned to meet Dean’s, and he wore a look of immense determination. “I’m done with this. The next potion I make is going to be something sensational – and tricky, like you always used to love.”

With that, he smiled, and in a single flick of his wand, years’ worth of notes burst from their filing cabinet and shredded into pieces, which then Vanished into nothing, while his cauldron emptied in a thin trickle of glowing turquoise, the fluid arching smoothly across the classroom until it poured down the sink. The books whizzed away to sit back on their proper shelf, and all the potion-making tools hurried off back to their drawers. They tucked themselves in, and the drawers slammed closed.

The room was left quiet and tidy, lit only by candles, floating about in the air and grouped in wall alcoves. The space looked similar to the way it had when Dean first met Castiel and he was given his new classroom. No precarious piles of books, no haphazard jars of bizarre ingredients, no obsessive lists of ever-so-slightly-altered processes pinned to the board that was meant to display student work.

Dean stared at the room, and for what felt like the first time in two-and-a-quarter years, he relaxed.

Castiel gave one last flick of his wand, putting out all the candles at once. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching down to touch Dean’s stomach. The press of his hand left him quickly, but Dean still felt the shape of every finger against his rumpled shirt.

Dean followed Castiel in silence to the main entrance hallway of the school. At night, all the lights were dimmed. In the middle of the big entrance door, there was a smaller door with its own hinges. Dean unlatched it, and allowed Castiel to exit first. Dean went next, climbing up the steps which led out from the trap door and onto the sand.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Dean chuckled. “Sometimes I think M. C. Escher was a wizard. High chance he had a hand in designing his place.”

“Who’s M. C. Escher?” Castiel asked, looking away from the bright stars and peering at Dean instead.

“An artist,” Dean answered. “Supposedly a Muggle. He did some awesome optical illusions. Stairs that go in impossible directions, hands that draw themselves. Total mindfuck, but it’s beautiful.”

Dean put his hands on his hips, smiling up at the stars. An inky indigo smothered the sky above, the darkness broken only by pinpricks of light in varying colours. From down in this quarry, so far away from the bright Muggle city, Dean was sure he saw rainbow galaxies twisted into the dome of darkness, a true spectrum of celestial glories. It was chilly out, cold enough that the hair on Dean’s arms stood on end.

“Lie down with me,” Castiel said.

Dean knelt on the sand beside Castiel, watching him take off his blazer. He used the velvet jacket as a pillow, lying on his back, eyes shining in what little light illuminated his face.

Dean lay down beside him, making sure he was close enough to touch him if he wanted. Their shoulders already brushed; Dean was glad to feel a muscular nudge to his bicep every time Castiel breathed out.

“Astronomy used to be one of my best subjects,” Castiel said quietly, eyes roaming the skies. “But now I try and remember anything I learned, and I realise I only studied to pass the test. I was so fascinated by the stories attached to the stars but now I recall nothing.”

“I only know the Muggle stories,” Dean said. “By the time Astronomy came up as a subject I could take, I’d already filled my schedule with everything else. I even took Divination.”

Castiel chuckled, turning his head to peer at Dean through the gloom. “Were you any good at it?”

“Sam was better,” Dean smiled. “He had the gift. I was better at learning than I was at... I don’t know, _being_. My natural state is inherently talentless. I just work damn hard not to suck at everything.”

“Oh, that’s not true, Dean,” Castiel said derisively.

“Oh yeah? Tell me one thing I’m naturally good at, then.”

“You’re fishing for compliments.”

“No, I’m fishing for you to realise I’m right,” Dean said, tapping Castiel’s knuckles gently. “And you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“I’m thinking.”

“You have to _think_? See. _See_.”

“You’re good at—” Castiel paused. “Caring.”

“That’s not a talent.”

“It is.” Castiel sat up, turning towards Dean with his weight on one elbow. “Just because there’s no school test for it doesn’t mean it’s not an incredibly important skill to have.”

“Psckhh,” Dean said, before wiping spit off his face with his sleeve. “In that case, you’re good at being unreadable.”

Castiel blinked. “I’m unreadable?”

“Uh, yeah. Like, I can’t tell what you’re thinking the way I can with Sam or Charlie. I guess it makes interacting with you interesting, but given I know you so well... Heh. That’s probably why people are so weird around you. You’re blunt and stubborn and kind of a dumbass sometimes.”

“I prefer to think of myself as readily confused. Less dumb. Less ass.”

Dean smiled up at Castiel. Oddly, he was pleased to feel this vulnerable, lying there beneath Castiel’s silhouette. “Nobody knows what to make of you,” Dean said softly. “Can’t tell if you really like me or you just stick around ‘cause _I_ stick around.”

“I like you, Dean,” Castiel said firmly, though he sighed. “More than you know.” He lay back down, significantly closer than before. His folded jacket wasn’t acting as his pillow any more, and his arm was fully overlapping Dean’s.

On impulse, Dean moved his hand, and was suddenly rendered breathless as his fingers slipped perfectly between Castiel’s. Castiel exhaled, then chuckled.

“Is this weird?” Dean asked, breath carrying his words to Castiel’s shoulder. Dean could smell his personal scent in a wave of his body heat. Even a flawless Amortentia potion couldn’t recreate that smell so well.

“No, I don’t think so,” Castiel replied eventually. He twisted his hand so his fingers slid deeper between Dean’s. “People hold hands while they look at stars all the time.”

“Right,” Dean agreed, though his heart thudded like it was more than that, more than a common activity that nonspecific _people_ did.

“Ah! Look, there’s a shooting star,” Castiel said, a thrill in his voice.

“I missed it,” Dean said, not even looking away from Castiel’s face. “Did you know that when Muggles see shooting stars, they make a wish?”

“Wizards do that too.” Castiel turned his head to peer back at Dean, mere inches away. Dean tasted his breath; it smelt of nothing but warmth. “What would you wish for, Dean?”

“Ahh, y’know. Silly things.”

Castiel pressed a small smile between his lips. “I’m sure your wishes aren’t as silly as all that.”

Dean didn’t smile back, lowering his eyes to Castiel’s chin instead. He didn’t reply.

He didn’t reply for so long that they both forgot they were meant to be talking. They watched the stars, and they held hands.

It was dark, and cold, and late. Fatigue was inevitable. When Dean started to fall asleep, he didn’t think twice before wriggling up close to Castiel and using his firm shoulder as a pillow. Castiel lay his blazer over them both as a blanket, then moved his arm and slung it under Dean’s neck, drawing him near.

Dean smiled as he felt a kiss upon his forehead. When he felt a kiss upon his cheek, he looked up through tired eyes, able to see the smallest glint of light in Castiel’s night-dark gaze. Dean felt so at home in his arms. His last thought before he fell asleep was something vague and blurry, but, in essence, he realised he’d never trusted someone as deeply as he trusted Castiel.

If he were ever to share his deepest secret with anyone, it would be him.

  
**☆**  
  


_Dear Charlie (and Gertrude),_

 _Last night Dean and I lay down together and stargazed, like it said to do in my most cherished volume of_ Witch Weekly _. I didn’t expect it to work, but it did. We held hands for a while. Then Dean let go of me, and I thought it was over, but then he curled up next to me and wanted to cuddle. I let him sleep in my arms under the stars. I’ve never done anything that special before, not with anyone._

_I love him so much, Charlie. But he told me that he wasn’t even sure if I_ liked _him. I told him yes. But it’s clear he doesn’t realise how deeply I care for him. If flirtatious mannerisms came to me as easily as they do to other people, he would know. Alas..._

_I made my last secret potion last night. Again, it’s ironic: just as I’m learning how difficult Dean finds it to understand me, I stop making the potion which would’ve made it easier for him. I wonder if I’ll ever tell him what the potion was for. Perhaps he already knows, and he won’t say. Maybe he was doing what you were doing, waiting until I realised how nonsensical my plan was._

_Either way, that part of my life is over now. I’ve decided to let things happen as they happen. I feel... older. I wonder if this is what it means to be an adult, giving up those childish obsessions of being somebody different. Instead we accept who we’ve grown to be, and simply hope we keep on growing into a more complete person as the years go on._

_After so long spent trying to free myself from who I am, it’s only after letting go that I feel free, and feel comfortable in my own skin. I don’t think it’ll ever stop being ironic._

_Thank you for the magazine and the photographs. I don’t know why my_ Witch Weekly _subscription redirected to you, but most likely there was a mix-up with their outgoing mail. If it happens again I’ll write to the company and ask._

_I’m sending you this letter with the same phoenix I sent before. I think her name is Firelash – at least that’s the tag on her nesting perch in the Astronomy tower. She’s been looking a bit frail since she arrived back here, but I can’t tell if she’s beginning to moult or whether she’s yearning to see her friend Inferno again. Keep me updated._

_Missing you! (Dean says hello, and he likes your new haircut. The chocolate sauce stain on the envelope is his fault.)_

_Love Castiel. x_

_P.S. Included a photograph of us and the house elves. It came out blurry, but it’s not bad for someone who only just learned how to make developing solution and had never used a camera before (i.e. me). I will be perfecting the photograph potion so I can teach my students next year!_

  
**☆**  
  


_Dear Charlie,_

_It’s me again (Castiel). I only just sent off my last letter, but today I did as I said I would, and I tested my camera again. It’s this nice little “vintage” contraption that Dean ordered in as an early birthday present. Tonight he got me to set up an entire photography studio in my classroom, because he said he wanted some good photographs of us together. He touched my hands a lot as he was showing me how to use the tripod. It was... pleasant._

_I’ve included a copy of the photo Dean liked best, where our arms are over each other’s shoulders. There’s another one where he kisses my cheek (and due to the magical developing solution, in the photo he kisses me over and over), but he got flustered when I showed him. He wouldn’t let me send you that. He tried to throw it away but I got upset and he apologised before giving it back. He’s been very quiet all evening._

_I have a query to make, however. While I was taking his photo to test the camera, Dean made what I interpreted as a ‘seductive’ expression. and asked me, “Do I look like Paris Hilton?” but when I asked who Paris Hilton is, he looked away and said “Never mind.” Who is Paris Hilton and why is Dean embarrassed about wanting to look like him? I suppose he must be a Muggle. It’s not a very wizard-like name._

_Love Castiel. x_

  
**☆**  
  


_Heya Cas._

_Paris Hilton is a Muggle heiress, actress... and singer, I suppose. I’d say most of her claim to fame is that she’s attractive and rich. That, and a sex tape she made went public. (In case Dean never explained, a sex tape is pornography. It’s a Muggle movie where people have sex on camera.)_

_Are you saying Dean wanted to look like her in the photo? Weird. But cute weird._

_I love the photo! You both look adorable. It doesn’t even matter that you’re not kissing. I can see in your eyes you want to be, you sweethearts._

_Love from Charlie._

  
**☆**  
  


_Hey Sammy! It’s Dean. Obviously. I just thought I should remind you that I’m your brother and I’m still alive, and oh yeah, YOU WERE MEANT TO WRITE TO ME._

_I’ll assume you’re up to your ears in textbooks and girls, or you’d have sent me something by now. They’d better be some RIVETING textbooks. (And hot girls.) (The girls are hot in Nebraska, right?)_

_There’s only three weeks until the start of the new school year, so me and Cas are pretty busy with planning our lessons. It’s essentially the same syllabus every year, just refreshed and updated. Lessons don’t always go according to plan though, so things move around as we need them to. After three years of doing this I feel like a pro. Sometime I can’t believe this is my LIFE, and this is my JOB. I tell rugrats how to do magic for a living. It’s freaking wild._

_In two weeks all the teachers will be back at school to prep before the students arrive. I can’t wait to see Charlie again, Cas says she’s been having a whale of a time in Bermuda. I feel bad for Charlie and Cas’ phoenixes, the poor birds have to Apparate across the entire U.S. every few days. It’s awesome how well they hold up to that kind of journey. (Firelash is looking a bit miserable though. Might be about time she caught fire.)_

_Me and Cas are planning on taking a few days’ leave, get outta the castle for a bit. Might come see you. Pull up a bunk in your dorm room, because we’ll be there tonight!_

_Nah, I’m kidding. But we are planning on taking the house elves to go see a real Muggle baseball game, since there’s a local one on. Cas is working on a potion that’ll let them slip by unnoticed. Me, I’m working on finding a place for them to sit in the stands. Lots of charms to do to make it work. It’s fun. I’ve never actually had much of an opportunity to use magic outside of a classroom._

_You better write back when you get this, or I’ll assume you’re in grave danger of studying too hard and I’ll have to stage a rescue. At the very least, send us some Fizzing Whizzbees and a handful of Chocolate Frogs! The American versions, not the gross British ones. The food delivery carriage hasn’t dropped by all week and it’s not due until next Tuesday._

_—Dean_

  
**☆**  
  


_Dean, didn’t you look at the schedule I put in your planning folder? My classes don’t start for three weeks after you’re back at school. I attended the orientation day at college, and like I told you when you clearly weren’t listening, the Ministry isn’t funding my entire degree, only the cost of the classes, not the food or board or textbooks. I won’t have time to hold down a job_ and _study during vacation, so I’ve spent the past month working at Brazen’s Witchery. It’s a classy magical bookshop, two storeys. I’ve been doubling up on shifts, because I’m only just getting enough money to pay for my room in the local tavern. Hopefully I’ll figure something out in the next few days, because this kind of pay isn’t going to work long-term. Wish me luck. (Got you some Whizzbees, but no Frogs, sorry.)  
Sam._

  
**☆**  
  


_Sam—_

_Me and Cas took a trip to the bank this morning and transferred everything in my account to you. That’s the accumulated earnings of my last four years as a teacher. You better appreciate it, and RATION IT, because there’s no more where that came from. No wild parties. Study only. I hate to say it, but don’t date anyone, because knowing you, your ideal date would be expensive._

_Cas also sent a couple thousand Galleons. I’ll admit I got a little emotional when he told me what he was doing. Save it for later, but maybe buy a nice quill or something. Everyone deserves to have a decent writing implement in their life. (Guess that’s the teacher in me talking.)_

_The baseball game yesterday was AWESOME. I wish you could’ve been there, Sammy. Someday I’m gonna take you to a game, just you wait. Turns out we’ve been playing it all wrong, I couldn’t even list the number of ways it was wrong. There were so many moments I realised “oh,_ that’s _how it’s meant to go”._

_Afterwards we took the elves and got ice cream from a truck (you should’ve seen the Muggle’s face when I told him I wanted 35 soft serves!) and we sat on the roof of the phoenix carriages, and we decided that we preferred our own zen version of baseball. If we played it properly we couldn’t all play at once, and that would suck._

_Only two weeks until classes start! I’m getting jittery. When I was younger, at elementary school, I used to get that “AAAH school’s gonna start” feeling, and I’d dread the classes and the teachers and the kids. Then at Jinxes I’d be excited, because after six weeks with just you and elves for company, I’d miss the other children. But I’d still be nervous, because of the classes – not to mention not being able to play baseball every evening bummed me out. But as a teacher I get nervous because I feel so..._ responsible _, you know? I can’t screw up. I can’t make up a class later if I’m sick. I gotta put my all into it, because those kids are relying on me. Sort of makes me feel special, in a way._

_Hope you’re doing okay. Not to get all sentimental or anything, but I kinda miss you._

_Oh hey, if that bookshop of yours has a copy of_ Dragon Den: Eros for Eternity _, could you post me a copy? It’s on my reading list but my usual order catalogue is out of stock. I wanna see why it’s so popular._

_—Dean._

  
**☆**  
  


_My dear, dear brother. You, read books_ without _pictures? Gotta say, I was surprised at first, but then I looked up your_ Dragon Den _story and it turns out it’s pure smut. But... you do_ know _it’s gay wizard fiction, right? I figured maybe you hadn’t realised. Regardless, I’ve included the store’s last remaining copy with this letter just because I don’t want to look at the cover art ever again. Feel free to give it to Charlie, I’m sure she has a gay friend who could appreciate it._

_Sam. (SAM. Not Sammy.)_

_P.S. Thank you for the money. I don’t really know what to say other than thank you. I bought some soup and some Ramen. I forgot what Ramen tasted like. (It’s just like being homeless again, but this time I have a bed!)_

  
**☆**  
  


_To SAMMY._

 _Hey, asshole, I read! I’m a teacher, of course I read. Frankly I’m insulted that you think so little of me. That said, thanks for_ Dragon Den _, but it was not what I expected (it was AWFUL) and I’ve given it away so it doesn’t tarnish the rest of my DD collection. (I completely HATED the book and I absolutely did NOT read it, and it is no longer in my possession. Just so we’re clear.)_

_On another note, Charlie’s due back here in a couple days. That whole ‘vacation’ feeling is slowly easing away. It’s going to be weird teaching Charms and not seeing you at the back of my classroom. (And you don’t need to thank me for the money. Just do well in school and it’s all good.)_

_—Dean_

  
**☆**  
  


_Dean, posting a quick note before I leave. Got a better job offer, so I’m no longer employed at Brazen’s Witchery. Also moving out of the tavern, since there’s free food and board at the new place. Don’t write to me for a few days until I’m settled at my new address. Sam._

 _P.S. Aren’t ALL the_ Dragon Den _books erotic gay fiction? Or did I misunderstand?_

  
**☆**  
  


_Dear Dean, Cas & all the house elves,_

_Me and Mom are Apparating back from Bermuda later tonight, making a stop at Mom’s place, but I’ll send this via desert owl post once we get to L.A.. When Professor Moseley arrives at school, can you please tell her that Firelash is staying in Bermuda? She and Inferno started a mating ritual and obviously I didn’t have a week spare to wait for them to be reborn together. They’ll fly back to Jinxes when they’re adults again._

_I have the pre-school jitters! Has Professor Moseley told you who the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is yet? I haven’t been told, so I’m wondering whether I should ask for my time-turner back. If I need to fill in for somebody until the new teacher arrives I’m more than happy to do so._

_See you tomorrow morning! I’ll be there just before 12. Love from Charlie._

  
**☆**  
  


Charlie knocked twice on the door to Dean’s quarters. As the Jinxes teachers were a close-knit bunch of people, sharing a common room was like sharing an apartment, and Dean didn’t often close his door. Charlie knocked again, bowing her head to listen. Dean couldn’t be out: Charlie was sure she heard someone singing inside.

She turned the golden handle and pushed the door open slightly, calling, “Dean?”

Faintly, she heard him warbling, “ _—Sweet basilisk snake you showed me, lean in for a kiss; you blinded meeeee, now my hea-ah-ah-aart’s amiss—_ ”

Smiling, Charlie pushed the round door open a bit more. She remembered giving Dean that vinyl record herself, years ago. “Dean, it’s me,” she called, easing the door closed behind her.

“Oh! Hey Charlie!” Dean shouted from the ensuite bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

“‘Kaaay,” Charlie called back.

Dean’s quarters were round-walled, made of pale orange adobe, and though this part of the castle was deep underground, the single window shone with enchanted sunlight, showing it was just past midday outside. Charlie’s eyes moved along the left of the room, where untidy stacks of books and records filled Dean’s shelves, topped with a vinyl record player which was playing _Sweet Basilisk_. Then Charlie looked right, to the scarlet-covered bed with draped curtains at its four corners.

The door to the ensuite bathroom was directly ahead, half-open. Dean was swaying about in a gentle dance, still singing off-key, “ _I couldn’t believe this was who you are, I never knew warlocks could be – so das-tard-lyyyyy..._ ”

On the bed, Charlie saw a book set upside down to keep its pages open in place. Its cover moved, and Charlie’s attention was drawn to it: it was the new _Dragon Den_ book. On it, the title character Eros cradled and rocked into a half-dressed wizard from behind, each of their expressions obviously pleasured. Charlie smirked, turning her eyes to the bathroom door.

“ _I am your love, I am your love, I am the witch who loves you, baby—_ ”

Charlie sat on the bed, waiting for Dean. She stared at the door, listening. He rummaged a lot, and there was the _tink-tinkle-tink_ of something small and metal dropping into the sink. The water ran, and then there was more scuffling.

Then it went quiet for a while.

When Dean opened the bathroom door, he grinned. “Hey.” He kept his eyes down, one hand pulling on the hem of his shirt to cover his private parts.

“Uh,” Charlie said, smiling at Dean’s weirdly red lips. “Are you... wearing... lipstick?”

“What?” Dean’s empty hand shot to his mouth, covering it. “No?!” He turned and ran back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Charlie heard a yelp of, “Dammit!” and then a quiet uttering of swear words, half drowned out by the sound of glass bottles clinking, and a wooden box snapping shut.

A bemused frown crossed Charlie’s face, though she smiled, watching the bathroom door.

This time, when Dean emerged, the neck of his shirt was wet, but his face seemed its usual colour. His lips were swollen but pink.

Dean glanced up to check the door to his quarters was closed, then he slunk over to his drawers and got out clean underwear. He surreptitiously nudged his wardrobe closed in the same movement, glancing back over his shoulder to check Charlie hadn’t noticed.

She had noticed, but she had no idea what to make of it.

When Dean had pulled some pants on and done up the belt, he sighed and reached for his record player, pulling up the needle just as the song reached its final notes. The room rang with silence.

“Uh,” he said. “Hi.” He tried to smile, but it seemed tense.

“Hey, Dean. Missed you,” Charlie smiled. She stood up, beckoning Dean into a hug. Dean went to her, wrapping her up in his arms. He squeezed, breathing in deeply. Charlie breathed in too, having missed her friend’s scent.

As they pulled apart, Charlie squinted one eye at Dean. “You kinda smell like jasmine.”

Dean’s eyes dropped to the tiles underfoot. “Uh. Yeah. Just a, uh... new cologne.” He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m... sorry I barged in on you like this,” Charlie said unsurely. “I would’ve waited but it was kinda urgent – Professor Moseley wants to see us all in her office. New Defence teacher arrived today. She wants to introduce us before the kids get here next week.”

Dean nodded, dragging a hand over his still-sore lips. “S-So, um,” he said, breathing unevenly. “When is this meeting?”

“Now,” Charlie said.

“Right now?” Dean replied. He looked apprehensive. “Can’t it wait, like, five minutes?”

“I just came from the office, Moseley sent me to get you,” Charlie said apologetically. “All the other teachers will be there by now.”

Okay, Dean definitely looked worried. He nibbled on his lower lip, eyes drifting to the far wall ahead of him. Slowly, he sighed, nodding. “Alright,” he said. He smiled at Charlie, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be right out. Gimmie thirty seconds.”

Charlie patted his shoulder on the way out.

It was only when she closed the door and waited in the hallway that she realised she’d felt something under Dean’s shirt. Something tiny and square, like a miniature buckle.

She shrugged. Yeah, it was understandable. Dean was totally the sort of guy who’d wear suspenders wrong.

  
**☆**  
  


Castiel met with Dean and Charlie as they were heading up the stairs to Professor Moseley’s office. With a laugh, Charlie embraced Castiel, and they hugged for a few seconds.

“Great to see you, Charlie,” Castiel said, pushing her bangs out of her face. “Your hair looks incredible short.”

“I know, right?” Charlie beamed. She patted Castiel’s bicep. “C’mon, let’s go up. We’re late.”

Dean knocked on Moseley’s door, and a second later, her cheerful, plummy voice called, “Come ih-iiin!”

Charlie entered first, and Castiel followed. Castiel felt Dean sweep in after him, closing the door behind them. All the other teachers were here, and the room rumbled with small talk.

Moseley’s office was not part of the castle, but was set into the clay at the side of the quarry. It was a middle-sized room, although its contents were spaced out so it appeared large: ceiling-tall bookshelves lined the left and right sides of the room, and the terracotta floor was furnished with a single antique desk, topped with magical instruments. Beyond the desk stood the proud, silhouetted figure of Professor Missouri Moseley, her robe flowing from her elbows. Behind her, one large window overlooked the entire quarry. The glass was sectioned into pieces so the lead joinings formed the official crest of the school: a lizard, a cardinal, and a jackrabbit perched on and around a cactus, frozen in a moment when lightning struck.

Castiel smiled pleasantly at the other teachers who stood around the room, nodding a greeting when they met his eye: Gilda Moondoor, Professor of Care of Magical Creatures; Bobby Singer, Patron of the hospital wing; Joshua D’Angel, Professor of Herbology; and, of course, Professor Linda Tran, combined departments of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. The masters of History of Magic, Transfiguration, Alchemy, Muggle Studies, Astrology and Divination were also in the room, but Castiel didn’t even glance at them, distracted by another unknown presence.

Between the door and Moseley’s desk were two wingback armchairs, one brown and one green. Someone sat in the brown one, hidden from everyone’s view but Professor Moseley’s.

“Alrighty, you lot,” Professor Moseley said, and her gentle voice cut easily through the mutters, silencing the room. “Now that we’re all here, let’s see who our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is, hm? Let’s just say... they need no introduction.” Moseley smiled down at the newcomer, giving them a friendly wink. “Stand up and let everyone see who you are! Go on, sweetheart.”

Castiel tilted his head, baffled by how informal the introduction was. However, his head slowly untilted as he saw the figure rise from the armchair.

The new teacher was tall and lanky, had a mop of brown hair that came part-way to his shoulders, and he was dressed in jeans and a blue plaid shirt. An utterance of surprised recognition went around the room.

“Sam?!” Dean shouted.

Sam turned around, a sparkle in his eye. “Hey.”

“You— What?!” Dean froze for a moment, but Charlie whacked him on the back, and Dean hurried forward to draw his brother into a hug. Castiel saw his eyes stayed wide, staring blankly at the golden stars that dangled from the ceiling.

Sam laughed, holding Dean’s shoulders as he pulled back. “Surprise! I got a new job.”

The teachers around the room chuckled and clapped, nudging each other. Nearly all of them had taught Sam as a student, and they’d said goodbye to him less than three months ago. Castiel himself was stunned to see him back so soon.

Sam grinned, catching Castiel’s eyes from across the room. “On the last day of term, Professor Moseley offered me a position here,” he explained, looking from Castiel to Bobby, then to Linda. Sam shrugged, and finished, “And I accepted.”

“But what about college?” Dean said, shaking his head. “What about working your butt off to pay for food and board and— And what about all the money me and Cas sent you?!”

“You can have every Knut of it back,” Sam smiled. “It was Missouri’s idea—” He turned to grin at their Principal. “She sent me to a summer-long class so I could learn how to teach.”

Dean scoffed. “So... The letters you sent, about the other job you had—? It was – what? – some elaborate ruse? So Gabriel-the-ghost could torture you with classroom horror stories all summer?”

Sam shrugged a shoulder, smiling widely. “Jinxes needed a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. This is my home, and Defence was always my best subject. You know that as well as I do that when you get an offer like that, you don’t turn it down.”

“But... college...” Dean was clearly disheartened.

“I’ll go to college when I’ve done everything I can do here,” Sam assured him. “What I said in my letters wasn’t all made up. Maybe someday I’ll have enough money to pay for my own college courses, and I won’t have to rationalise every expense for the accountants at the Ministry for Magic.” He smiled. “In the meantime, I think I have what it takes to be a teacher.” He looked back at Professor Moseley, who’d come around her desk just to place her hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“I know you have what it takes,” Professor Moseley said. “That knowing feelin’ in me never lies.”

Sam grinned at her gratefully.

Moved by the knowledge that the family was complete again, Castiel beamed, and he started to clap. The others joined in. Dean began to smile – and in a matter of seconds, a cheer went up from around the room. The staff at Jinxes were truly one unit, and now their youngest brother had come home to stay.

  
**☆**  
  



	7. First Class Teachers

**{ PART III }  
**

“Welcome, class.” Charlie waved a friendly hand to the ten new students approaching across the dust, each holding a broom. “I’m Professor Bradbury; I’m your new Flying teacher. Hello. Hello.” She nodded to her students as they gathered around her.

These were the Jinstem first-years. They were young and fresh-faced, their skin tones varying between black-as-black and lightly tanned, although two were pale and looked completely out of their depth: a clear mark of being Muggle-born. One Japanese girl sat in a floating chair, her face expectant.

With a smile, Charlie said, “Over this year, I’ll hopefully get to know every one of you, and you’ll get to know me. We’ll all become good friends.” She widened her eyes in mimed surprise. “Oh! And I’ll teach you how to fly a broomstick, too!”

Some of the kids laughed, but a few of them sulked. She grinned. “Tough crowd, huh?” She clicked her cheek on her teeth. “Too bad. I’m a real joker.”

Turning away, she led the group to her trusty Nimbus 2011, which floated three feet off the ground. She patted it. “Most of you will know one end of a broom from the other. But for those of you who don’t—” She poked the bristly end, “This goes behind you. It’s your tail. Front end is your nose. Hands go here.”

She looked back at the class, and all at once, she saw something other than ten students embarking on their first Flying adventure. She saw ten young children; ten small minds with ten small personalities, and a hundred thousand hopes and dreams and fears between them.

Charlie swallowed, and she worked up a tiny smile. “Now, I... I want to be the best teacher I can be. For the first time in five years, this is the only class I’m teaching. I coach the Quidditch teams and I maintain the pitch you’re standing in, but this...” She looked around the quarry. Bright sunlight and the faint, echoing song of phoenixes made everything between the quarry’s four corners seem like the most welcoming place on Earth. “This is what’s important to me.” She looked down at the kids. “You’re what’s important to me.”

Even the first-years who hadn’t enjoyed her playful teasing were paying attention now. Not many teachers got so personal on the first day.

“I remember my first day here. I put on a brave face but I felt like I was drowning inside, all these new things to take in. Living away from mom, that was a big step for me.” Charlie huffed softly as she saw a few blinks. They related.

“I’m sure there are plenty of other things weighing on your mind,” Charlie said. “I’ll tell you a bit about myself... Take your thoughts off it. Uhm. So, I’m— I’m half-blood; a witch on my mother’s side. Grew up all over the place, used to travel a lot with my mom. Dad was outta the picture early on.” She shrugged. “I knew I was a witch from the start. I went to a Muggle school until I could come here, and for years I had to hide who I was, because the other kids wouldn’t get it, or they’d think I was a freak...”

She lowered her eyes, recognising that she was missing out half the story. “There was another reason they would’ve treated me bad. In the Muggle world there’s a lot of conflict; people don’t like to be different. But here, on this pitch and in this school, I want you to know it’s okay to be different. If you’re black or white or Hispanic or Japanese or Indian, it doesn’t matter; we’re all part of the same family. If you like boys, or girls...” She trailed off. “If you like girls, like me...”

A breathy murmur shifted through the ten students; their group reaction would’ve been nigh-undetectable if they hadn’t turned to look at each other immediately after.

“Then it definitely matters,” Charlie said. “Because feeling like you’re different is never easy, and I want to be here for you if you need me.”

She felt a stir of emotion tightening in her belly, and though she smiled, the corners of her lips turned down. “Ah— Hm,” she stammered, frowning at her shoes. She took a breath, and looked up, meeting the eyes of the kids. “Let me be the teacher I always needed when I was your age,” she said, with a sense of finality.

“Now!” she turned around with a swish of her robes, and she climbed onto her broom. “I’ll give you a demonstration, and then we’ll get started for real!”

With that, she took off, and performed as many cool flips and loop-the-loops as she could, knowing it would give the children something to talk about other than her coming out.

  
**☆**  
  


Castiel dumped a pile of textbooks onto his desk. “Bee, Ayy, Tee,” he said. “Bafflingly Arduous Test.”

The class groaned.

With a devilish grin, Castiel leaned his ass against his desk, folding his arms. “Oh, I hated it too,” he assured them. “After two years of study, I barely scraped an ‘Acceptable’ in many of my B.A.T. classes. And I regretted it. I regretted not working harder, and I resented not being able to understand things as easily as other people.” He met the eyes of a few of his thirty-one students, who had previously been third-years but were now fourth-years faced with their first big examinations. “But that’s not going to happen to you.”

“Yeah, right,” said Brandon at the back. He twiddled a Muggle pen between his fingers, his expression dark.

Castiel gazed across the room, deep into the shadows, where the shyer students tended to lurk. “I will not let it happen to you,” Castiel said boldly. “I _refuse_ to let you fail. Because I didn’t do as well as I should’ve, I missed out taking on some of my favourite subjects at F.R.O.G. level, I missed out on college, I missed out jobs—”

“But your job is teaching us,” Mandy laughed from the front.

“Yeah, and it doesn’t exactly pay well,” Castiel said, side-eying the young woman. “Unfortunately the people who run the wizarding world have not yet figured out that not everyone is good at tests. That’s the crux of it, and you have to realise that: you have to play their game. Think of it as a conspiracy. They want you to fit neatly into one of their boxes, and if you don’t, you fail life. But as soon as you’ve graduated school, they want you to be an individual, and have strengths and values that nobody else has. Only then are you allowed to think _outside_ the box. Or, again, you fail life.”

Every fourteen- and fifteen-year-old in the room looked dismayed.

“It’s a horrifying prospect,” Castiel agreed. “And I don’t mean to scare you. But it is a future worthy of fear.”

“Is your whole class gonna be like this?” asked Renee. She sucked on her sugar quill, staring dead-eyed at Castiel.

“Um,” Castiel grinned. “No. Hopefully not.” He looked back, and he put a hand on his textbooks. “The books you have in front of you, those are your guides for the year. There will be some modules in the end-of-year test which aren’t covered in the books—”

The class clamoured in their offence, and Castiel waved a hand to quiet them, mouth open, “But I will be teaching you! I mean what I say when I promise I won’t let you fail. If any of you find you’re struggling, do not hesitate to tell me. If you forget your coursework, _tell me_. I’ll let you make it up. That’s not to say I’ll give you a free pass every time, but I won’t fail you automatically.”

He nodded, glad to see some relieved faces.

“The years ahead are going to be very, very different from all the years before,” Castiel warned them. “If, at any time, you need me to talk slower, or softer, or louder – or even give you a lesson one-to-one, I’ll do what I can to accommodate you.” He gave his class a soft, empathetic look. “I’ll be the teacher I needed at your age. Whatever may be weighing on your mind at any given time, I want to lessen that strain if I can. For once in my life, I’m in a prime position to help someone else. And I want that someone to be all of you.”

  
**☆**  
  


Dean ambled down the central aisle of his classroom, hands in the pockets of his corduroy slacks. He lifted one hand and yawned against the back of it, then rubbed at one eye. His class was chattering amongst themselves, and he let them chat; they hadn’t seen each other in weeks and they had plenty to catch up on.

When he had his class notes sorted and his slides at the ready, Dean waved his wand and plunged the classroom into darkness. A few startled yelps leapt through the auditorium, but the kids settled with laughs.

With another flick of his wand, Dean started up the projector. It whirred and clicked, and with a calm, white flash, a square of light appeared on the canvas projector screen. When the class saw the first slide, they laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny, it’s a naked man,” Dean said, sitting in his wooden chair and tossing his boots up on the desk. “My drawing skills never won any awards, so sue me.” He grinned though, and he let the class get over the chuckling stage and reach the point of quiet titters.

“Let’s give him a name,” Dean said, looking lazily out at the sea of fourth-years before him, seeing their interested eyes gleaming in reflected light. “How about Daniel. Daniel... Hmm... Daniel Wesson.”

Dean tapped his wand and the slide changed. The next slide was Daniel Wesson again, his neutral expression replaced by a sad one. A few girls in the class went “ _Aww..._ ”

“Daniel’s kinda bummed out,” Dean said, fiddling with his wand, running his thumb over the carved jasmine flowers. “He has this secret, something he’s never told anyone.”

Dean swallowed, feeling a tiny frown crossing his face.

The class was quiet for a while.

Then someone at the front of the auditorium raised their hand. “Sir?”

Dean looked up. “Hm?”

“What’s the secret?”

Dean took a slow breath in. “Daniel doesn’t really wanna share. But, uh – suffice to say, by the end of the class today, you guys are gonna have him smiling.” With a lopsided smirk, Dean flipped his wand, and the projector shut off, the lights came on, and the projector screen rolled up so he had space to move on his wooden stage.

“Alright,” Dean said, pushing himself to his feet, then dragging his chair out from behind the desk, “hands up, who can tell me the difference between sex and gender?”

He spun his chair around and sat on it with his arms folded over the backrest. He gave an upward nod to the kid with a bushy afro with his arm raised, who quickly looked behind to see if Dean was nodding at someone else. “No, you,” Dean grinned. “Gimmie what you got.”

“Uhhh,” the boy said, his voice far deeper than it had been last year. “Sex is like, mating.”

The class laughed, and Dean smiled.

“It’s true. We use the word different ways. ‘Sex’ means mating. But ‘sex’ can also refer to genitals themselves. A penis, a vagina.”

More laughs.

Dean ducked his head. “Somethin’ funny?”

The laughter petered out.

When Dean looked up, he pursed his lips, gazing along the rows and rows of pimply, awkward teenagers. “When we talk about someone’s sex, what do we mean, exactly?” He stood up, twirling his wand around his fingers as he paced the stage. “Sometimes people use ‘sex’ and ‘gender’ interchangeably. But what we _should_ say... ‘Sex’ should only refer to genitals. Vulva. Penis. Maybe something else, something specific – I’m not a complete expert, I’m sure there are words I don’t know. But that’s your sex.

“But,” he said, pausing to look at his class, “when we talk about whether someone’s a boy or a girl, or even something else, we should use the word ‘gender’. He, she, _they_... Whatever they call themselves is their choice. Someone’s gender is what _they_ believe themselves to be. On the inside.”

A few hands went up.

“Yeah, you. At the back.” Dean pointed with the handle of his wand.

The girl scoffed. “Why, though? Why bother? They’re just words.”

Dean tucked his wand into a belt loop. “Well,” he said, smacking his lips, “for most people it won’t matter. You’re born as female, and that’s it, you’re a girl. You don’t even question it. But there are people in the world – no doubt people in this _room_ – who were born as a female but later realise, no, I’m not a girl. Or they’re born a male, and think... all they want in the world sometimes...” Dean breathed in, held his breath, then let go. “ _Daniel_... He wants to be a girl. He wishes people could see him as female. Not all the time. But just... Just sometimes.”

Dean swallowed, lowering his head. His heart was pounding.

“His, uh... His sex and his... his gender. They don’t match up.” Dean licked his lips, putting his hands on his hips to keep himself from holding his own hand. “He was assigned male at birth. And some days he’s a boy, so it’s cool. But some days he’s a girl. He never knows which day is which until he wakes up in the morning. And every—” Dean covered his mouth with his hand, feeling the heat in his face. He gulped as he let the hand slide down. “Everyone sees him as a dude. He’s fine with that, but... occasionally he’ll look in the mirror, and he’ll h-hate that his hair is so short or his shoulders are so wide...”

When Dean glanced up and saw the bemused expressions around the room, he shook his head. “It’s a big topic. It’s a lot to take in for your first Charms class of the year. I bet a bunch of you are wondering why this is even relevant. Hell, at this point, even I’m wondering.” Dean thrust his tongue between his lips, licking them wet. He glanced up again, and as always, he saw his class watching him.

“You lot, all of you... you’re at a weird point in your lives. There’s gotta be a shit-ton of _crap_ , just weighing on your mind. I bet some of you are realising you might wanna try dating someone. Maybe you’re a little late to the game.” Dean shrugged. “You got zits, you’re menstruating, you’ve grown two feet in two months. Exams coming up this year, and next year. Being fourteen is overwhelming and confusing – and I’d know, I went through it just the same. I mean – not the menstruating part—”

This time, he was glad they laughed.

Dean scratched his neck, shaking his head as he grinned. “Look, just saying. There’s some stuff I never learned in school, stuff I wish I’d known.” He thumbed over his head at the retracted projector screen. “Stuff I wanna try my best to teach you. I wanna be the teacher I never had at your age.”

He tucked his hands in his pockets again, giving a smile to nobody in particular. “So let’s start. Who can tell me about a charm that would make Daniel feel a little more comfortable with himself? Somethin’ he can use to make himself look more girly on days he feels like being a witch instead of a wizard.”

When five, six, seven hands went up, Dean felt a warmth inside him. Satisfaction.

Nobody was laughing now.

  
**☆**  
  


Sam ran his hand back through his hair, breathing out slowly. He steeled his jaw, reminding himself that they were only eleven years old and he was eighteen; they couldn’t be that bad. When he was eleven, eighteen-year-olds were practically indistinguishable from actual adults. The kids in there would accept him as a real authority figure.

He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, pulling himself up to his full height of six feet. Feeling powerful, he opened the black door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and he strode in with purpose.

“Good morning, class,” Sam said, not looking at anyone as he swept past every desk in long strides, just about aware of the kids scrambling to their seats. “I’m Professor Sam Winchester, not to be confused with Professor Dean Winchester, who is my older brother, although he’s noticeably stockier than I am.”

He smiled to himself when he heard a few snickers. He reached Professor Bradbury’s old desk, and he turned around, taking off his suit jacket. He smiled at the thirty young faces who peered up at him. They were so small and cute! Sam didn’t remember ever being that small and cute. He’d always been tall and average-looking, he was fairly sure.

With his suit jacket hung over the back of his chair, Sam swept his hand down past his tie and took his seat, both hands together on the desk. “Alright,” he said. “Defence Against the Dark Arts. I’ll be your teacher for all of this year, and depending on my contract with the school, possibly next year too. I took Defence class all through my school years; I passed both my B.A.T. and F.R.O.G. examinations with my results marked as ‘Outstanding’. If I have my way, you’ll all do the same.”

A hand rose at the back of the room, at the desk between the iron maiden and the cage containing a cockatrice.

Sam craned his head up see the student. “Hi,” he smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Skyking,” said the boy. Sam raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Wizarding folk named their kids all sorts of weird things these days.

“What’s your question, Skyking?”

Skyking gave a smirk, which suddenly made him look a lot less small and cute. “Are you pureblood?”

Sam opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He got up again, and he slowly walked around to the front of his desk, shaking his head. “I, uh... I don’t think that’s important for you to know.”

With a polite smile, Sam moved on to nod to another student with their hand up. But he couldn’t help but overhear the whisper Skyking gave his neighbour, “ _Oh, yeah, that means he’s a mudblood. You can tell by the clothes, anyway._ ”

Sam almost swallowed his tongue. “Excuse me,” he said, turning stern eyes on Skyking. “Would you care to repeat that for the whole class to hear?”

That was one of Professor Bradbury’s tactics. Though he kept it out of his expression, Sam felt a thrill just from being able to exert that sort of authority.

But Skyking snorted. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Unfortunately, I heard you,” Sam said. “I’m warning you now: I don’t tolerate that sort of language in my class. Or in this _school_. No teacher at Jinxes is going to tolerate that. If I hear one more use of that word, you will be reported to the Principal. And she has the authority to expel you. Do you understand that, Skyking?”

Skyking looked thoroughly sour. “Yeah,” he said, quietly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Sam said, cupping one hand to his ear.

“Yeah,” Skyking said more forcefully.

“Good,” Sam said, looking at the boy coldly. He turned his back, not expecting to hear any more out of him.

But one quiet whisper met Sam’s ears: “ _Filthy mudblood shouldn’t even be teaching us. They can’t expect me to put up with this._ ”

Sam stopped dead. A flare of absolute fury rose in his throat like bile. After years of being subjected to the casual use of that word, and that kind of attitude, he couldn’t believe he was being subjected to the same crap in his own classroom, by an _eleven-year-old_. The worst part was that it _hurt_.

Licking his lips slowly, Sam drew his wand. He ran his fingers along twelve inches of cypress wood, skin slipping in a hiss on the matte polish.

In handling his wand, he had an idea.

He turned around, pretending he didn’t care as much as he did. He wandered between the rows of black desks, looming over every student he passed. He came to the desk of Skyking, and he towered over him, eyes dark and furious.

But then he bent his knees and crouched down low, his shoulders level with Skyking’s desk. Sam sighed. He looked at Skyking, and he shook his head gently. “That’s not a nice word, kid,” he said.

Skyking glared back, his grey eyes showing too much anger for someone so young.

“Here,” Sam said. He put his wand on the desk, letting it roll a short way. “That’s my wand. Take a look! My brother paid for it, with Muggle money he had saved up in his piggy bank. A piggy bank is like a... a ceramic container, shaped like a pig. Muggles keep coins inside.” Sam chuckled. “I know, it’s weird. But Dean saved up for four years to get me this wand, so I’d be ready when I came to study here.”

Sam observed Skyking glaring at the wand but not touching it, his jaw so tense that his skin wrinkled around his chin.

“Cypress wood,” Sam said. “Twelve inches. Dragon heartstring.”

He reached up and tapped Skyking’s desk twice. “What’s your wand made of?”

Skyking didn’t move for a while. But, no doubt he had been waiting weeks for a chance to show off his new wand, because once he decided to, he whipped it out in a second, balancing it between his fingertips. “Birchwood. Seven-and-a-half inches.” His gaze flicked to Sam, but didn’t focus above his nose. “Unicorn hair.”

Sam moved his hand towards the silver wand. “May I?”

Skyking swept his hand away. But Sam kept his palm open, asking in silence.

Slowly, cautiously, Skyking let Sam take his wand.

Sam gave it a twirl, then spun it expertly between his fingers. “Hey, nice. Good wand. Whippy. Easy to handle. With a bit of practice, you’ll get really good at using it. Especially if you pay attention in Charms class.” He flipped the wand around and offered it handle-first to Skyking. “And get this: birchwood and unicorn hair in combination can make a great healing wand. Not saying healing magic is your destiny, or anything, but chances are, it’ll be a strength of yours.”

Skyking gripped his wand parallel to the edge of the desk, both hands around it. He kept his head down, his face expressionless.

Sam stood up, patting Skyking on the shoulder before retrieving his own wand from the desk. He left Skyking behind and went back to the front of the classroom, sighing as he leaned against the bigger, taller desk.

“Sorry about that,” Sam said to the rest of the class. “Uh. Look... There’s thirty of you. I know a lot of you are gonna have questions; it’s a new school, new classes. Some of you have never witnessed magic before, and there’s probably a ton of worrying things weighing on your mind. _All_ of you need one-to-one learning time at some point. But I have to teach the whole lot of you, all at once. It’s kind of a big ask. So on behalf of everyone else, if you have any disruptive comments or motions to make, please... y’know, refrain. If you want my attention but it’s not relevant to the lesson, wait until the end of class then come tell me. I’ll do what I can to help.”

He offered a nervous smile, eyes skipping from one quiet student to another. They’d all listened to what he’d said to Skyking, and he wondered if he’d somehow taught them all something without even realising. Was that what teaching was about? Was that how it worked?

“Um,” Sam said. He relaxed, letting his shoulders drop. “When I was around your age, I had a class like this. It wasn’t Defence Against the Dark Arts, it was something obscure, something— Oh, Study of Ancient Runes. There was this one clique, five kids. They’d sit at the back of the class, passing notes. They’d throw rolled-up paper at people, and they’d enchant little toys to go about the room, bothering the students. The teacher would get mad every class, and she’d shout and she’d send them out to stand in the hallway.

“But then one time, one of those kids died playing Quidditch.” Sam swallowed. “Yeah, it sucks,” he nodded, noticing the fearful vibe that swept through his classroom. “At the time it was horrifying to everyone. It wasn’t so long ago, but all over the world, Quidditch matches weren’t as safe as they are now. But what happened in my Ancient Runes class...”

Sam rubbed his forehead, disliking the memory. “The kids who used to annoy the rest of us, throwing crap at us – they were quiet for weeks. Months. They started paying attention in class, because without their friend they didn’t feel like they wanted to mess around any more. And the teacher used to praise them. They used to suck at everything, but they’d do something a tiny bit better the second time around, and the teacher would go, ‘ _Ohh, well done!_ ’.” Sam smiled, hearing his own falsetto. “But me, I was just quiet. I kept my head down, I did the work, and I improved all the time. But she never put a ‘well done’ on my pop quiz, she never gave me one of those cool magic stickers that move around the paper.”

Sam folded his arms. “I guess it’s selfish. A bunch of kids lost their friend and all I cared about was me. But I was fifteen. At the time that really bothered me. So I... I started acting out in class. I’d kick the shoes of the girl in front of me, I’d flick Bertie Bott’s Beans across the room, all the flavours I didn’t like. I stopped handing in my assignments on time. Then, eventually, not at all. And only at _that_ point did she notice me.” Sam looked up, meeting Skyking’s gaze from across the room. “And you know what she did? She gave me detention. Five times in a row. I missed a Quidditch game, and I thought my life was falling apart.

“Then my brother—” Sam huffed a laugh, “he came up to me one evening. He snuck into the Qurdruk common room just to confront me. He’d gotten my report card. He was my legal guardian, so it went to him. And he wasn’t pissed off. He wasn’t angry, he didn’t shout. He just... asked me what the hell happened. I was always so good at all my classes, and now I was failing almost all of them.”

Sam swallowed, feeling tears spring to his eyes. “All I could say... All I could think... All I wanted was a little sticker on my work. A smiley face at the bottom of the page in red ink. I just wanted someone to say, you’re doing okay. You’re doing good. Everything’s fine, keep going. I wanted someone to hear what I couldn’t express in words.”

Sam felt his lips tremble, and he blinked away the mist in his eyes. He gazed out at the kids before him. The classroom was silent.

Sam exhaled. “So I... I went and bought you guys some cool magic stickers. Maybe it’s stupid to you, but not to me. I wanna...” He gulped once more. “I wanna make sure you get noticed. Nobody slips through the cracks. Not one of you. By the end of the week I want to know your names.”

He stood straight and clapped his hands together. “So! I’m going to hand out some parchment. And I want you all to pull out your quills and tell me about yourself. Anything you think is important for me to know. This is your Defence class for today; no homework.”

He grinned when he heard a hiss of “ _Yessss_ ,” go around the room.

Yeah, he decided. He was gonna enjoy teaching.

  
**☆**  
  



	8. Muffled Rumours

Charlie shut the door to Castiel’s classroom, sighing at length as she shed her Quidditch robes, tossing the maroon fabric over desks as she passed. “Ugh, what a _day_ ,” she gushed, heading for Castiel’s desk, where he sat hunched over, scribbling on a parchment. “You would not _believe_ the crap I heard from my students, Cas.”

Finally down to just a t-shirt and jeans, Charlie grabbed a stool and sat down with her back to a student desk, kicking her boots up onto the next stool along. She groaned, threading her spread fingers through her hair. “Ever since I came out, it’s just been crazy. I was expecting more drama, but I guess I picked the right class to open up to. My first-years are awesome. It’s the other classes I’m having a problem with.”

She smiled, gazing at Castiel, who carried on working while he listened. Charlie blinked her tired eyes, still adjusting to the musty gloom after being in bright sunlight all day.

“Some things I’ve heard have been really sweet,” she confessed. “There’s a lesbian couple in their sixth year who decided to come out together, and someone told me they only did that because they heard _I_ was out. That knowledge feels amazing, Cas. You can’t even imagine how awesome it is.”

Still grinning, Charlie shook her head at Castiel. “But you’d definitely imagine better if you were _listening_ to what I had to say.”

At this point Charlie expected Castiel to lift his head and say, “I am listening; go on,” but he just turned a page and started writing more notes.

“Hey,” Charlie said. “Cas, you okay?”

No response.

Castiel scratched his cheek with the tip of his quill.

“Uhh, okay. Bad time?” Charlie stood up, supposing she ought to leave. But she narrowed her eyes, now concerned. Castiel was sometimes aloof, or distracted, but he was never entirely unresponsive.

Cautiously, Charlie approached the main desk. “Cas...?”

Charlie reached the desk’s edge, and she set her knuckles on its top. _Tap-tap!_

Castiel leapt back in alarm, eyes wide. “Charlie,” he said, his voice extremely loud. “What are you—?”

He blinked a few times, apparently coming to his senses. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve and waved it. Charlie jumped back off the dais when a force field shattered between them, crackling like gold until the bubble burst with a light _ploop_.

“The heck was that?” Charlie asked.

“Muffling charm,” Castiel said guiltily. He slid his wand back into his sleeve. “My last class for the day was too rowdy. As soon as they were gone I desperately wanted some peace.”

“Sensory overload, huh?”

Castiel inclined his head, swallowing as he folded up his parchment and set down his quill. “I hope I didn’t miss too much of what you said.”

“It wasn’t anything important,” Charlie said with a careless wave. “I can talk to Dean about it if you’re busy.”

Castiel looked up, his eyes shining. “Oh, no... Please, what was it?”

He looked so pitiful all of a sudden. He hated being left out of the loop.

With a smile and a sigh, Charlie Conjured up an armchair, and sank into it with her feet up on Castiel’s desk. She took a breath to begin again, but instead she groaned, clapping both hands over her face. “There’s so many _rumours_ going around about me.” She separated her hands and stared into Cas’ patient eyes. “They’re not all bad, but even the nice ones make me feel... iffy.”

Castiel turned in his seat, paying Charlie his full attention. “What are these rumours about?”

“Where to start?” Charlie scowled at her boots. “That I’m making up being gay for attention. That I’m crushing on students— Ugh. There’s one rumour that I’m dating a model from _Witch Weekly_. I don’t mind that one. But the worst one... The worst one...” She ran her hand over her mouth, and she leaned forward in her armchair, slipping her boots back to the ground. She swallowed, and she managed a small smile, trying to cheer herself up. “It’s not too bad, since it’s not true.”

“What is it?” Castiel asked.

Charlie shook her head. “A handful of kids think I was hurt by a man, and I swore off men forever because of it. It’s bad because people – fuck knows which people – people assume the man was Dean.”

“But he’s—”

“I know,” Charlie nodded. “It’s ridiculous. But there’s a trend. People heard that rumour and they went further: what if I don’t have a current girlfriend because I was hurt by a _woman_? And what if that woman was Professor of Care of Magical Creatures?”

“Gilda Moondoor? Why her?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlie lamented, bowing her head into her hand. “She’s cute and quirky and she looks perfectly innocent, therefore probably has a few dark thoughts. She’s fun. She’s totally my type. Who knows how teenage brains make these connections? Around here, when you’re a teacher, you’re practically a small-fry celebrity. Gossip spread by word-of-mouth is just as bad here as it was when I was at school. Worse, even. As a student I blurred into the background. As a teacher, everyone knows me through my classes. Everyone knows Gilda.”

Castiel nodded, eyes roaming his desk studiously. “I suppose it is a strange position we’re in, as teachers. We can be like family to the students, like parents... But we’re also distant.”

“They feel far away enough that they think it won’t hurt us to make up stories,” Charlie agreed. “Professor Moseley warned us about this. Teachers can’t have relationships with other teachers for exactly this reason. More fuel for the fire. More scandal, more rumours... more hurt.”

Castiel exhaled gently, reaching to touch Charlie’s shoulder. “I’m sure none of your students meant to upset you. This is a small school, we don’t get much in the way of outside entertainment. Making up rumours must be amusing to some people.”

Charlie took Castiel’s hand, patting it. “I’ll get over it. Gilda though...” Charlie tilted her head, looking towards a far corner of the Potions classroom, where fading sunlight illuminated condensed steam. “Professor Moondoor is the sweetest creature on the planet. She’d never hurt me like the rumours said. This would probably scare her off, too! No way she wants everyone thinking she and I are in some kind of abusive relationship. Or that we’re in a relationship at all. Which is a bummer.”

“You ought to talk to her,” Castiel said. “Make sure she understands there’s no truth to the rumours, that you don’t see her that way. Just because you’re a lesbian and she’s attractive, it doesn’t mean you’re interested in her.”

Charlie smirked at Castiel. “Why, Professor, when did you start handing out relationship advice?”

Castiel eased his attention back to his parchments for the purpose of occupying his hands. “I’m only trying to help.”

“I know.” Charlie kept smiling. “I just might take your advice, too. I’ll talk to her. Set the record straight, so to speak.”

“Uh-huh.” Castiel had accidentally become immersed in his notes, absentmindedly picking up his quill again.

Charlie guessed their conversation was over for now. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she said to Castiel, standing up and Vanishing her armchair.

“Hm?” After a few long seconds, Castiel looked up. “Oh... Bye,” he said belatedly, when Charlie was already halfway from the room, carrying her robes with her. “Have a good evening, Charlie. And I hope things get easier.”

Charlie turned and waved, and Castiel waved back. He watched Charlie leave, then he returned to his work.

  
**☆**  
  



	9. Patronum

“I swore to myself I’d never become _that person_ ,” Dean said, striding down the sunlit corridor with student essays trailing from his hands, flipping through them as he walked. “But I can’t just— Eugk! Look at this!” He shoved a paper into Charlie’s face, tutting. She didn’t get a chance to read it before Dean retracted it and scowled at another one. “At this rate I might start allowing Spell-Checking Quills in my class.”

“Those don’t account for grammar,” Charlie smirked. “‘Your” and ‘you’re’ aren’t going to correct if the apostrophe is in the right place.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Dean uttered, seething as he turned a corner, leading Charlie into the darker part of the castle, where the corridors no longer had enchanted glass ceilings. Dean and Charlie were headed for Sam’s classroom, and every corridor down here was gloomier than the last.

They were joined by Castiel as he exited the men’s bathroom, drying his hands on his waistcoat.

“Are you going to see Sam too?” he asked.

Dean side-stepped around him, barely looking up. “I’m going to vent about the difference between ‘there’ and ‘their’ and ‘ _they’re_ ’ to someone who can properly appreciate the _pain_ it causes when they’re used wrong,” Dean muttered.

“You always insist you don’t care about that stuff,” Castiel pointed out, scrambling to keep up with Charlie and Dean’s hasty strides.

“I don’t!” Dean cried, angrily folding up his students’ work. “Except—” He glared at the ceiling and slapped the roll of papers into his palm. “Except I do. Okay? It gets on my nerves that we stop teaching math when the kids are accepted to Jinxes, or Durmstrang, or Hogwarts, or whatever magical school they go to. I’ve got kids who can’t count past a hundred, they’ve got no grasp of fractions, and it’s no _wonder_ they’re failing Potions, Cas. They can’t figure out two eighths of anything! Magic’s important, sure, but _I’m_ worse at figuring out how many Sickles are in a Galleon than some of my students.”

“I thought this was about spelling,” Charlie said.

“It’s about the wizarding education system as a whole,” Dean said. “Yeah, it’s about crappy spelling. But it’s also about the fact wizards _don’t have condoms_! We shouldn’t rely on magic for everything! We’re human; STDs still happen! The kids need to _know_ about this stuff, especially if they’re going to go home to Muggle families and Muggle sex partners. But, look, it’s— It’s more than that. It’s about— Ack! It’s about my Head of House advising me not to become an auror because it’s a competitive industry, and conveniently forgetting to tell me that _every_ industry is competitive – and active discouragement is seriously _no_ way to get kids to become successful in their favourite field of study. It’s about the kids knowing how to sit still through an hour-long lecture, but not knowing how to _learn_. It’s about—”

He cut himself off; they entered Sam’s classroom and Dean was immediately distracted by the layout. It looked more-or-less the same as it did when Charlie ruled the roost – dark and ominous, like a storm cloud had been Transfigured into a dungeon – but all the desks had been stacked up against the side wall, blocking up the blacked-out windows.

“The hell’s going on here?” Dean asked, looking around.

Leaning against a side wall and picking his teeth with a transparent quill was Gabriel, a resident ghost of the Jinxes castle. “Your baby bro cleared the room for his class,” Gabriel said, quirking up an already-quirked eyebrow.

“So where is he now?” Castiel asked.

“Took a bathroom break,” Gabriel grinned.

“Oh, I must’ve missed him when I came out,” Castiel muttered. He stepped forward on the black floorboards, eyes roaming the angular stacks of desks. “We ought to put these back for him.”

“You poor, living creatures,” Gabriel sighed dramatically. “Always at the beck and call of your physical forms. Bathrooms. Dinner. Naptime. Don’t you get tired of it all? Couldn’t you just _die_?”

“Hate to burst your bubble there, Gabriel, but when it comes to sins of the flesh, I’m pretty content being alive,” Dean said dully, pulling out his wand. He began setting the desks back where they were supposed to be, and Castiel and Charlie joined him. “I’m not about to jump out a window and join your freaky dead teacher cult. There’s enough of you roaming the hallways as it is.”

“What was Sam teaching today, anyway?” Charlie asked Gabriel over her shoulder. “When he took over teaching Defence I handed over the lesson plans I used, but he rearranged every class to his own schedule. I don’t know what he’d be teaching at this time of year.”

“Puh!” Gabriel puffed a ghostly quiff of once-golden hair out of his round face. “Not telling.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Gabriel hummed. “On the subject of lesson plans,” the ghost said cooly, “none of you would even know how to put a lesson plan together if it wasn’t for me.” He floated between Charlie and Dean, chilling them both to shivers. “Don’t you remember your first week as a teacher, Deanie Weenie?” He loomed in Dean’s face, making Dean shrink back in discomfort. “I remember you sweating buckets and throwing things at the wall.”

“I was fine,” Dean snapped. He glared at Gabriel, pulling himself up to stand at his full height. If Gabriel hadn’t been floating nearly a foot off the ground, Dean would have towered over the ghost.

“ _Ohhh, won’t you help me, Gabriel? You taught Charms, you know how to do this! I’m going to faaaail..._ ”

“I do _not_ talk like that!” Dean seethed.

“I toned _down_ your dramatic sobbing,” Gabriel smirked, winking at Dean. “For the sake of present company. Wouldn’t want to _embarrass_ you or anything.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said sternly. “We were grateful for your help, all those years ago. All of us still are. But quite frankly, I think every teacher employed at this school would have preferred _written_ instructions on how to be a teacher. Your methods were...”

“Disturbing,” Charlie finished, flicking her wand to set another desk in place. “Sixteen simulations where my students try and murder me? No thank you.”

“Admit it, though: it was accurate,” Gabriel clucked.

Sam’s voice echoed through the sparse classroom: “Nothing like that’s happened to me. You’re just a bad teacher.”

Dean, Castiel and Charlie turned to smile at Sam.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Hey,” Sam replied, frowning. “Why are you putting all my desks back?”

Castiel halted a floating desk in mid-air and sheepishly returned it to the teetering stack along the wall.

“They were being _helpful_ ,” Gabriel said, rushing up to Sam, making him side-step.

“Get lost, Gabriel,” Sam said. “You freaked out my students enough today. Nobody needs a petulant ghost pulling faces while they’re trying to summon a Patronus.”

“Patronuses!” Charlie cried in delight. “I _loved_ teaching that. How did your seventh-years do?”

“Five of them got a wisp on their first try, six managed a fully-formed patronus before the end of the lesson,” Sam said seriously. “I’m convinced nearly all of them might manage it before the end of the semester.”

“I never managed a full Patronus,” Castiel said, all too sullen. “So many times it took a vague form – a four-legged beast of some kind – then I lost it.”

“I’ve had students who can conjure better-formed Patronuses than my own one,” Charlie said with some pride. “I had a full-sized African elephant tear around the room a couple of times before the girl collapsed in exhaustion. But _boy_ , did that make my day.”

“I nearly crapped my pants the first time I did mine,” Dean chuckled. He leaned against a student desk, meeting Castiel’s eyes from a few feet away. “It was during my F.R.O.G. examination. It got me a bonus mark, but after that day I could never do it again.”

“Losers,” Gabriel said, sulking at the side of the room. “Standards for the teachers at this school are at a record low, I’m telling ya. You guys can’t even get it up.”

“Nobody cares what you think, Gabriel,” Sam sang, clearing all the desks away with a swipe of his wand.

“E-YAH!” Dean yelped as he hit the floor, spread out like a starfish. “Sam, watch it! I was leaning on that!”

“Sorry,” Sam grimaced. He offered down a hand, pulling Dean back to his feet.

“Are you all right?” Castiel asked quietly, approaching Dean to touch his arm.

“Uh? Oh... Yeah,” Dean smiled, reassuring Castiel with a touch to his elbow. “Nothing seeing your fully-formed Patronus won’t help me forget.”

Castiel’s eyes skipped to Sam, then back to Dean. “I don’t think I can—”

“Whoa, boy. There’s your first problem right there,” Charlie said, slapping Castiel’s back. “Remember _The Little Engine That Could_ , Cas. Be the little engine that could.”

Castiel squinted, trying to place to reference. “I – think – I can...”

“Gotcha,” Dean beamed, patting Castiel’s stubbly cheek. “You first, buddy. Floor’s clear. Head in the game. Give us what you got.”

Castiel gaped, unsettled by the attention. He slid his wand into his hand, eyeing his friends anxiously.

“Go on, Cas,” Sam encouraged.

Licking his lips, turning to face the empty, more shadowy side of the room, Castiel lifted his wand, his body moving into a bracing position; legs apart, one forward and one back, his wand arm set forward and outstretched.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel held it for a moment, then breathed out, “ _Expecto Patronum._ ”

Dean felt a stomach-flip of exhilaration as a wisp of silvery-white light emerged from Castiel’s wand tip. It twirled and faded, but Castiel was still bright-eyed when he turned around. “I got something!”

“Happy memories,” Charlie reminded him. “Let it fill you up. Take over.”

“Like an orgasm?”

Silence met Castiel’s question. It was a strong and stubborn silence, until Gabriel burst out laughing.

Dean glared at Gabriel, then turned soft eyes on Castiel. “Yeah,” Dean said firmly. “Exactly like an orgasm. Emotional buildup and release.”

“Dean,” Sam scolded.

“What?” Dean grinned at his brother. “He asked. And he’s not wrong, is he?”

Castiel was unshaken, turning his back again, raising his wand. He took a moment this time to shut his eyes, contemplating his memory. Dean wondered what he thought about. He hoped Castiel’s best memory included him. His own chosen memory included Cas...

At last, Castiel spoke. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

A shape burst forth from his wand. It was indeed large and four-legged, but the sight of it half-formed gave Castiel such a shock that the silver light disappeared, and that dark side of the classroom dipped back to its usual gloom.

“You got this, Cas,” Dean said, going to Castiel’s side, placing one hand between his friend’s shoulder blades. “Come on.” Their eyes met, and Dean offered his most assuring smile. “I have faith in you.”

Castiel smiled briefly before he lowered his face. “Thank you.”

Dean licked his lips, dazedly considering kissing Castiel’s cheek for luck. But three pairs of eyes watched them, so he backed away, returning to his place between Charlie and Sam.

Castiel faced the space, and for the third time, he raised his wand.

A tense and hopeful stillness fell over the room. Even Gabriel settled down; like everyone else, he was eager to find out what form Castiel’s animal guardian would take.

“ _Expect—_ ” Castiel steeled himself. He was really determined this time. “ _Expecto PATRONUM!_ ”

From Castiel’s wand soared a great and shining dragon, humongous and roaring in silence. It galloped to the highest corner of the classroom and swooped around on its huge taloned paws, lolloping back down in an arc, heading straight for Dean.

Dean laughed in surprise and perhaps a little fear, stumbling back a few steps as the beast touched down, four clawed feet to the floorboards. It had wings tucked to its back. It paced, lighting up the room and Dean’s face in silver. It came up to confront him, and Dean saw its eyes were crystal blue, sunken into its face the way Castiel’s were. The dragon blinked at Dean in a smiley way, then turned its great head towards Sam, then Charlie. It nodded approvingly, then paced halfway around and walked up to Castiel.

Castiel stood in place, dumbfounded by the sight. He raised his hand, and laughed out loud; his gruff and cheerful laugh filled the room for a moment as the dragon lifted off the ground like an untethered helium balloon, pushing its shining silver nose into Castiel’s palm.

“Hello,” Castiel said to it.

Castiel’s Patronus closed its eyes and nuzzled him.

Still in awe, Castiel slowly let his wand arm relax. Without any sorrow, he let the animal fade. It washed away into an air current, taken apart by sparkling wisps.

Dean whistled. “Always knew you were a lizard at heart, Cas.”

“That wasn’t a lizard, Dean, that was a Miniature Green Knifewing,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “They’re ferocious and hardy and—”

“Cute,” Dean said firmly. “They’re adorable.”

“Dean,” Castiel said shyly, hanging his head, sliding his wand through his fingers.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Dean grinned, going up to Castiel and grabbing his shoulders to give him a congratulatory hug. “You just did you first proper Patronus!” He held the sides of Castiel’s neck as he leaned away again, holding his gaze. “You did good, Cas. Proud of ya.”

Castiel blushed a little. Dean pretended not to notice, stepping away.

“Now me,” Dean said, rolling up his sleeves. “Gabriel, stand back. This one might give you nightmares.”

“Even if I did dream – or sleep, for that matter – I doubt it,” Gabriel said, folding his arms.

“I’m warning you, man, it’s no freakin’ pussycat,” Dean said, biting out a grin. “You ready?”

“Go Dean!” Charlie called from a few feet back.

Dean took a deep breath, and he smiled, thinking of what Castiel said about orgasms. He brought his chosen memory to the surface, and he let it fill him up. Like bubbly bathwater in a tub, sloshing up his insides. The memory glinted brilliantly in his heart.

_“You can’t do this to me!” Dean yelped, clinging to Castiel’s waist for dear life. “I’m not a Keeper, I’m a— I’m a ground-dweller! Put me back down!”_

_Castiel laughed, holding Dean’s hand tighter. “I won’t let you fall, Dean. Look, Sam’s waiting for us. Come on!”_

_They shot upward, further away from the ground in a rush too much like the end of the world, and Dean screamed, hyperventilating into Castiel’s back, breath hot in his robes. He felt the shake of Castiel’s laughter, he felt the reassurance in his grip. Dean pressed his chest tighter against Castiel’s back._

_“Whooo!” Castiel shouted, turning Dean in a loop around the pitch. They were going so fast that Dean heard a bug whistle through his hair like the insect was stationary. Castiel’s scent was slamming into Dean’s face in waves, hot and cold in intermittent moments._

_“Take a look, Dean!” Castiel called back. “Look at our home from above! Don’t be scared, there’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll love it, I promise.”_

_Trusting Castiel enough to want to look, Dean carefully peeked through his narrowed eyes. He gasped in awe: the quarry was a mere rectangle below them, and it was so uninspiring to look upon compared to the space beyond. Purple mountains, blue skies, trees and cacti and tremendous, sweeping plains of red sand, stretching up to the circular edge where the Earth ended. The view rotated as they flew, circling the quarry._

_“Holy shit,” Dean whispered, resting his cheek on the back of Castiel’s neck. He smiled, watching the blue sky twist and the clouds churn as the broomstick shot into a sudden dive – and Dean was screaming again._

_“Fuck you!” Dean yelled. “Fuck this, fuck you, fuck— Fuck! Fuck!”_

_Castiel just laughed._

_Not too far behind, Dean saw the lightning-swift figure of Charlie approaching on her speedier broom. Behind her was Sam. They both laughed, enjoying Dean’s open display of terror._

_Dean sobbed and clutched Castiel tighter. The sky twisted again, and he felt like his stomach was yanked out through his feet. Dean knew he’d never been more scared in his life._

_Nor had he ever been more exhilarated._

_And, not once in his twenty years on Earth, had Dean been more secure in the knowledge that absolutely nothing could go wrong._

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Dean said, smiling around the words.

He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know his Patronus had emerged, alive and beautiful. Dean blinked, and he grinned, seeing his tiger staring back. Her slitted, content eyes gazed up at him as she smiled.

Dean laughed, reaching to touch his Patronus. She avoided his hand and leapt over him, making him duck instinctively. Her legs were terrifyingly powerful, and her tail swept in a curve as she padded up to Sam, walking past him in the classic aloof fashion of all feline breeds. She ignored Castiel just as expertly. Last of all, she wound past Charlie, giving a careless yawn.

“Not a pussycat, huh?” Gabriel said, still leaning on the wall. “That one’s chubby as an overfed draft excluder.”

“Hey,” Dean said. But he didn’t need to react: his Patronus already turned on Gabriel, her tail swishing dangerously. She snarled with her big, sharp teeth, her wild eyes glaring at the ghost.

Dean smirked, seeing Gabriel unfold his arms and float away.

“Don’t mess with the _real_ queen of the jungle, pal,” Dean said, resting his hand on his Patronus’s back. He couldn’t quite feel the tiger, but he sensed emotion in her form, rather than fur or warmth. It felt like joy.

Dean’s tiger turned to look up at him, and Dean pursed his lips. “Good kitty,” he said.

His patronus winked one eye, then disappeared.

“Oh yeah,” Charlie cheered, clapping her hands. “That was gorgeous.”

Dean tipped an invisible cap to his audience. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You go,” Charlie said to Sam, pushing him forward. “Show us what you showed your students today.”

“Alright,” Sam said boldly, marching up and taking Dean’s place, facing the empty classroom. Dean went back to stand with Charlie and Castiel, smiling when they each elbowed him in congratulations.

Like Castiel had, and like Dean had, Sam took some time to summon up his best memory. He reset his shoes on the floorboards, and he shifted his shoulders and twitched his head, making his hair shift around his ears. He put out his wand arm, and he did the twirly movement of his wand as perfectly as he did anything he’d practised a hundred times.

Dean grinned when Sam’s turtle patronus almost swam straight into the wall. It turned around, waggling its overlarge paddles to help itself scoot through the air.

Sam turned on the spot, watching his turtle glide up to the ceiling, diving over the beams supporting the classroom’s ceiling and merging through one of them. Showers of silver rained down, vanishing before they reached head-height. Dean watched too, glad to see that gigantic monster of a thing after so long.

Sam’s turtle seemed to smile at Dean, then snuck elegantly up to Sam, swimming around him in a circle. He bowed its head once as it went. Before Dean knew it, the creature was gone.

“You know, I always thought of you as a puppy,” Gabriel said thoughtfully. “Maybe a chocolate labrador, or a golden retriever. A turtle seems a bit like overkill. You’re boring, but you’re not _that_ boring.”

“Hey, I don’t make the animal, I just conjure it,” Sam said smugly. “What’s your Patronus, anyway?”

“Me?” Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t _you_ like to know. I’ve been dead for two hundred years, I’m not giving up that secret now.”

Dean snorted. “If I had all the world’s books at my fingertips, I’d look up ‘world’s most annoying animals’ and Gabriel’s Patronus would be right at the top.”

“I’d bet you anything he’s an opossum,” Charlie said.

“Guys,” Castiel complained. “Don’t be mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Dad,” Dean rolled his eyes.

Castiel looked over at Gabriel. “You know what, that goes for you too, Gabriel. Go and pick on someone who shares your current life status.”

Gabriel harrumphed and folded his arms again. He watched Charlie expectantly. Nobody really thought he would leave; the Defence classroom was Gabriel’s favourite place to haunt.

Ignoring the ghost, Dean nudged Charlie. “Your turn.”

Charlie let out a slow breath through pursed lips. She stared at the spot where the others stood to conjure their Patronuses, and she stepped forward. Sam passed her, smiling as he returned to Dean’s side.

“Is it weird if I think about you lot?” Charlie asked, checking over her shoulder.

Dean gave her a lopsided grin. “Don’t see why not. You guys are my happiest memories.”

“Same,” Sam said, furrowing his eyebrows and smiling at his shoes.

Dean glanced at Castiel, who turned pink on the apples of his cheeks. His eyes shone as he gazed back at Dean.

“I— I, uh,” Castiel stammered, turning his eyes on Charlie. “Yes. I believe it’s appropriate to find happy memories when among the people who... care most about you. Yes.” He nodded a few times for good measure.

Charlie, curious now, turned around to face Castiel. “What was your happy memory?”

Castiel swallowed. “Uhm.”

“Don’t tell us,” Sam said.

“No, _do_ tell us,” Dean urged. “Mine was the first time you took me out flying on your broom.” He grinned, glad that Sam’s eyes flashed in recognition. Dean looked back at Castiel. “C’mon, what was yours?”

“When...” Castiel breathed, eyes drifting along the floor, looking as far as the door of the classroom. “When you all pulled me off my armchair and tickled me on the floor until I cried.”

“You hated that!” Sam said in surprise.

“I did,” Castiel agreed. “At least, I thought I did while it was happening. But every time I think back on it, I smile.” He was grinning now, reliving the memory. “Maybe it’s the way I laughed, maybe it was having you all so close— I don’t know. I felt satisfied after. That was—” He licked his lips, peering down at the floor right in front of him. More quietly, he finished, “That was the first time I was absolutely convinced you were all my friends. I _trusted_ you. I’d never trusted anyone before, not ever.”

Slowly, he looked up, and he smiled at Sam with gleaming, tearful eyes.

Sam swallowed, and he moved closer to grip Castiel’s shoulder. They didn’t speak, they just stared.

Dean took a loud breath. “Okay!” Sam and Castiel stepped apart, and Dean forced up a half-genuine smile. “Charlie, Patronus time.”

Charlie went back to her mark. She glanced back once more, though. “Sam? What was your memory?”

“First night as a teacher,” Sam said with a broad smile. “That dinner we had together.”

“Isn’t that the night we stayed up until five in the morning and—”

“And slept on the common room rug, yeah,” Sam finished, cutting over Dean. They shared a smile. “Couldn’t stay up that late, nowadays. Too old.”

“Oh, please, you’re not old,” Dean scoffed. “Going by your hairstyle, you’re still a twelve-year-old girl.”

Sam laughed, which made Dean grin wider.

Satisfied now, Charlie turned her back and cleared her throat. “I figure the absolute worst baseball game in the history of baseball ought to do.”

“You broke your arm that game,” Castiel frowned.

“Yeah, I did,” Charlie said brightly. “And you know what? I saw you three crowded around my hospital bed, wanting to be the first to read out my mom’s get-well-soon card, and I thought, hey, maybe there’s something here I’ve been missing all along.” Charlie sighed, and her shoulders sank inside her robes. “Life isn’t worth skipping with a time-turner, not if there’s a good reason to slow down.” She hadn’t turned to look at the others as she spoke, and Dean knew that meant she didn’t want to show herself weak. She was vulnerable now.

Dean’s heart went out to her. Until now, he hadn’t realised the truly sizeable part his friendship had played in Charlie’s life. He thought she gave up the time-turner for the sake of her good looks, not... friends.

“You got this, Charlie,” Dean called to her, keeping his voice level. “Show us the best Patronus we’ve ever seen.”

“No second best for my favourite people,” Charlie sang, raising her wand. With a soft laugh and a strike of power, she cried, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Out came a silver phoenix, large and swooping in a backward arch, as elegant and sleek as Charlie was on a broomstick. It gave a silent trilling song, diving low over everyone’s heads. Even Gabriel grinned as it went past.

“Yeah!” Charlie shouted, raising her hand. Her Patronus gave her a high five with its wing as it swept past.

Feeling the elation in the room, Dean pulled out his wand and called out the spell to summon his Patronus again. His tiger pounced straight after the phoenix, and they played among the rafters, leaping and diving like any cat chasing a bird.

Soon Sam’s Patronus swam after Dean’s tiger, and the tiger’s fur stood on end, startled when the turtle nipped playfully at its tail. The great, bulky creatures filled up the room with their moving light as they pounced or ambled from rafter to rafter.

At last, Castiel’s six-foot dragon joined the airborne zoo. The four magical friends laughed together, consumed by the beauty of this moment, as well as the memories of all their favourite moments before.

Dean’s tiger tiptoed over the stacked desks, as Castiel’s dragon followed it in somewhat less gainly fashion. Apparently encouraged by the sight of the chaos, Gabriel pulled out his ghostly wand, and he effortlessly summoned his own Patronus.

A spirited little fox scampered after the phoenix’s tail, unfazed by the gigantic tiger that trod behind it, each paw trailing waves of silver.

The classroom echoed with laughs of delight and joy. For a while, when everyone else was busy watching the animals, Dean watched Castiel. And he watched Charlie, and he watched Sam. God help him, he even looked at Gabriel once or twice. The sight of their smiles just filled Dean up with glee, warm and shining inside his heart.

Next time he conjured a Patronus, Dean wondered if _this_ might be the happy memory he’d choose.

  
**☆**  
  



	10. The Radio

It’s _battery_ -powered,” Castiel announced smugly. One hand patted the top of the radio, and the ancient wooden contraption made a hollow _thunk!_ noise. “All I have to do to get Muggle radio is to turn this knob.” He pointed at a central dial.

Dean folded his arms. “Go on, then,” he challenged. (Under his breath, he added with a grin, “ _Chuh! Muggle radio._ ”)

“You don’t believe me,” Castiel determined.

“Uh, no.” Dean smirked. “For one thing, smartass, nothing powered by batteries works beyond the mile-wide border of the school. And another thing,” Dean raised a finger, smirking even more, “we’re twenty-five miles from the nearest radio tower, at _least_ , and you and me are standing in a classroom with stone walls a foot thick, underground, _inside a quarry_. There are exactly _zero_ radio receptors on the grounds of Jinxes. If you get Muggle radio on that thing, I’ll—” Dean waved a hand. “I’ll... I don’t know. I’ll slow-dance.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, putting his fingers on the radio tuner.

Dean raised his eyebrows, daring Castiel to turn the knob.

Castiel did.

The radio went _skeeEEEEEEEEphtvjhhkhhkhhhhhhhh—_

Dean winced, but he smiled as he winced. Castiel huffed and bent down in front of the radio on his desk, grimacing at the horrible noises it made while he twisted and fiddled with the main knobs and all the knobs around it.

And then, all at once, the radio made a different noise.

_—the rest of the constitution—khbbh—best in the world!—AEEEEEEEE—pttbh—fine recipes for you to try—ONE FOOT IN, ONE FOO—da-dan!—ppkkt phhk—what? what? and I was like, what?—do you beliiieeeve in life after love—_

“That!” Dean leapt forward, nudging Castiel out of the way. “I haven’t heard that song in years!” Gleefully he twisted the knob back, but the song had vanished between a dozen other similar voices and bizarre, nostalgic sounds.

“Dammit,” Dean sighed. He glanced sidelong at Castiel, who looked smug again. Dean licked his lower lip. “You wouldn’t wanna slow-dance to an infomercial, would you?”

Castiel slowly unbent from his waist, standing straight with his chin up, level with Dean’s. “You want to dance _with_ me?”

Dean’s lips rounded. “What? Oh. I mean...” He blinked. “You don’t know what an infomercial is, do you?”

Castiel slowly shook his head.

Dean grinned, bending to look at the radio again. “Gimmie a second, I’ll find something.”

_—prices skyrocketing for the first time—phhkff—no, this isn’t the way! I said to him—FIRST TIME IN FOREV—bom tutty bom bom bom—six juicy tangerines—gives me love, love, love lo-o-ove, craaazy—Christmas gifts mailed directly to your door, so you don’t have to—FFRT—FZZZT—pkkhhhkkkkkkkk—_

“You broke it,” Castiel complained, shouldering Dean out of the way.

“I didn’t do anything, I just—” Dean scrunched a hand into his hair, frustrated. “I had a good one, then it crapped out.”

Castiel’s ass bobbed against Dean’s thigh as he craned forward to fiddle with the radio. Dean sighed, patting Castiel’s lower back. His waistcoat today was a soft satin pinstriped thing, buckled at the back. Dean fiddled with the buckle, something he’d taken to doing recently. Castiel’s clothes were always so nice to touch. Castiel liked soft things, and when he wore soft things, Dean came to realise he liked soft things too.

Castiel twiddled and twirled the knob, but he couldn’t get it to work again.

Then, all at once—

_—lay your heart down for me; magic sway, magic sway... these are the years that pass away..._

Dean grinned, patting Castiel on the back. “That’ll do.”

“This isn’t Muggle music, this is The Weird Sisters,” Castiel said with a frown.

Dean looked at Castiel in surprise. “You know The Weird Sisters?!”

“Well, not personally—”

Dean laughed and took Castiel’s hand, pulling him into the walkway of the Potions classroom, where the floating candles hastily drifted out of their path. Castiel toppled off the front dais a step behind Dean, and Dean turned in time to steady him, one hand on his waist, one still holding his hand.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked, as Dean pushed up against him, rocking him.

“I’m dancing, what does it look like?” Dean said, beaming.

Castiel took a breath to speak, but his mouth stayed open, silent. His eyes caught Dean’s, and for a while they stepped together, their feet mirroring each other’s movement without a single glance down. Dean grinned, biting his lower lip, slowly letting it slide free. Castiel seemed unable to look away from his eyes, and Dean’s initial playfulness... gradually... began to... fade.

Dean and Castiel were slow-dancing.

One step. Two steps, swaying.

_These dreams we cannot shaaare..._   
_There’s always magic; our enchantments in the air._   
_We dance until the light is gone—_   
_But this love? This love lingers oh... oh... on..._

Dean lowered his eyes, watching Castiel’s soft breaths slide over his lips. Dean wondered why he hadn’t looked at Castiel’s lips so closely before; he had a beautiful mouth. It opened softly with an arch at the top, like a puppy’s. Castiel’s lips were a delicate pink colour, finely grooved. The hair on his upper lip and below on his chin was all shaved to stubble, though it had grown over the day and through the evening, late into the night. If Dean were to touch it, it would prickle... It caught the light, and the thick strands appeared golden, shining.

_Lay your heart down for me, baby;_   
_Magic sway, magic sway;_   
_These are the years which pass away..._

Dean’s lips parted of their own accord. He glanced up for a moment, and he realised Castiel had been looking at Dean’s mouth too.

Noticing Dean had looked up, Castiel met his gaze.

They were inches apart. Candlelight shone through the sides of their irises, and Dean hoped his eyes were made to look as spectacular as Castiel’s were in that moment. He hoped Castiel saw a beautiful person before him, because Dean couldn’t bear to imagine loving Castiel this much, as much as he did, and not have him feel equal love in return. Love for his personality, his smell, his face, his eyes; his touch, his smile. Oh, that little smile. That shy tilt on the corner of his mouth, fascinated and amused that Dean took such an interest in him at all.

_These are the years which pass away..._   
_Don’t let this sparkling moment go, my love,_   
_Let our magic sway, ma-a-agic sway_   
_Don’t let this moment pass_   
_Don’t let this moment go, my love,_   
_For we may never get... it... baaaaack._

The song slowly came to an end, its notes dragging and pulling like they didn’t want to be over. Dean didn’t want it to be over. He couldn’t stop himself from moving, couldn’t let his hand fall from Castiel’s grip or slip from his waist. He danced and he danced, lost in Castiel’s eyes.

When the last notes played, a static silence filled the Potions classroom. Dean didn’t remember stopping his feet, but he realised he was still. He was frozen in time, holding Castiel, being held.

Castiel blinked halfway, his eyelashes never covering the blue in his eyes. He seemed closer, then closer still... Dean realised they were both leaning in for a kiss. He barely had a breath to process this before—

_BrhMPHH._

Dean gasped, looking over Castiel’s shoulder at the radio. It had burst into flames.

“Shit.”

Castiel let go of Dean’s hand, already pulling out his wand. “Aguamenti!” he yelped, aiming his wand at the lashing, roaring flames. Water spouted out of his wand and towards the radio.

“Finite!” Dean smashed the water out of the air, and it splattered across the stone floor. Castiel looked back at him in perplexed horror. Dean shook his head, and over the roar of the flames he shouted, “It’s electric! You can’t use water on electrical fire, it’s not safe. Basic Muggle stuff!”

“So what do you suggest, Dean?!” Castiel asked, a incensed kind of focus in his eyes. “What could be _more_ unsafe than a large and angry ball of _fire_ in the middle of my desk?”

Dean clamped his teeth together. He aimed his wand at the fire as it spread to the papers that littered the desk, and with his heart beating in his throat, Dean said, firmly, “Flamma Praefoco.”

The flames immediately tightened up, as if they were squeezing together. They became slimmer and shorter, flickering and tickling at the wood they burned, and then they vanished. They left behind a great black smear across the desk. The radio was destroyed, the outside charred, its core reduced to small metal pieces. Some of Castiel’s parchment still singed, but the glowing red lines ceased to spread any further, and soon disappeared, leaving only a wobbly black line where cinders had eaten at the paper’s edges.

“Suffocation charm,” Dean said. “Piece of cake.”

“Cake?”

“Muggle expression. Means something’s easy.”

Castiel sighed witheringly, raising a hand to his forehead. He rubbed at the weary lines in his skin, eyebrows raised as he approached the desk. He coughed, waving away the smoky residue that hung in the air. Dean cleared his throat as he came up beside him, near enough to press against his shoulder.

“Was good while it lasted,” Dean tried, offering an awkward smile.

“Hm,” Castiel said, coughing again. He fished out a burnt magazine from the layers of black stuff on the desk, and with his fingertips, he brushed away flakes of ruined paper, once glossy. “ _Damn_. I really liked this issue.”

Dean’s eyebrows drew together, a funny smile pulling at his lips. With a curious hand, he reached to take Castiel’s magazine to look at it.

“ _Witch Weekly_ ,” Dean read under his breath, seeing the well-dressed witch turning to her good side on front cover.

Dean’s smile became wider, rising slowly up one side of his mouth. His eyes moved to meet Castiel’s, and an emotional hunger filled him up, stealing through his chest and making him warm all over. “You like wearing girl clothes too?” he asked, hardly able to believe it.

Castiel opened his mouth, tilting his head. “What?”

“This issue,” Dean said excitedly, flapping the magazine. “The article about crossdressing? Look, here—” With a broad grin, Dean flipped through page after page, making flecks of black stick to his hands and shimmer down to the desk below. “This.” Dean showed Castiel the article, and Castiel took the magazine. “When I read it, I was like, thank _God_. I could never work out how to make my shoulders look smaller without Transfiguration, you know? I walk around like a friggin’ _bull_ the whole time.” Dean tugged at the shoulders of his waistcoat, shaking his head.

He looked across at Castiel, still smiling. He expected to see Castiel looking as happy as Dean was, _finally_ finding someone like him—

But Castiel just looked confused.

Dean’s heart surely stopped for a moment. “Th... That’s not why you like this issue, is it...”

“Page thirty,” Castiel said, holding Dean’s eye. “I liked the article on page thirty.” He handed Dean the magazine back, and Dean took it, unable to breathe.

Dean flipped through pages, but for a while he couldn’t recognise numbers or words, and he flipped through the whole thing before he had to start over. He hadn’t meant to expose himself like that. Or at all. What did Cas think of him now? Dean must seem a wreck, talking about things he wasn’t meant to talk about...

Page thirty.

_How to Charm the Wizard of Your Dreams: A Witch’s Easy, Numbered Guide to Understanding the Muggle-Born Mind_.

“What’s this?” Dean asked.

“I found it very helpful,” Castiel said. “They had a regular weekly column with similar tips a few years ago, but then they replaced it with a column about fashion, and I... I found myself... drifting.” He lowered his head, apparently ashamed. “That was when I began formulating my secret potion. I couldn’t cope with not understanding you.”

Not understanding...?

“Me?” Dean said quietly. He eyed Castiel with some indeterminable emotion swirling inside him. “The wizard of your dreams... That’s me?”

“I don’t dream about you,” Castiel said, looking up. “Well, I did once, but—” He looked away, embarrassed. “That was the only time.” He began to frown, and he swallowed, the stubbled skin of his throat tucking neatly to his diamond jaw. “That’s a lie. I dream about you a lot.”

Dean stared, open-mouthed. He couldn’t believe anything he was hearing. And yet... something about all this theory seemed so real to him, almost tangible. Like unswallowed food in his mouth.

Castiel licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, barely skimming the red seam. His gaze flicked up, examining Dean’s cheeks, his lips, then meeting his eyes. “I, um... I needed a lot of help. From this magazine; from Charlie. I didn’t know what to do.”

Dean couldn’t help but feel flattered. A heat had settled in his cheeks, and he kind of wanted to hold the back of his neck, curling up small and shy. But he stayed where he was, staring, clutching the open magazine.

“I... Cas...” Dean touched his mouth, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say...”

Dean slowly put the magazine down, eyes drifting to the start of its numbered list.

_We dug up a few old favourites from our archives. Take a look, try them out, and find out which tricks work for you and your magical man!_

Dean had been smiling, but as he reached the first line, his smile wavered.

_1\. Ask for his help on something he knows lots about! Men always like to think they’re clever. If you’re feeling sharp, maybe even try paying attention – you never know what you might learn._

Dean scoffed. “This seriously helps you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

_2\. Get him to try your sweet treats! (Fun new dessert recipes can be found on page 14.) Who needs utensils when you have fingers? Scoop a little up on your pinkie and offer him a taste._

Dean swallowed. “You... You actually...” His heart felt like it sank a foot lower in his chest. He carried on reading, unable to look away.

_3\. Too hot? Take off a layer. Ask him to take one off too! The summer heat is far more bearable when you’re topless._

Dean’s knees shook, and he dragged his feet around the desk, patting around blindly for Castiel’s chair. He found the backrest, and he toppled down to sit, grasping the magazine in both hands. He stared at every word with disconcertment simmering inside him. He couldn’t breathe right, he couldn’t see past the white words printed over a purple image of a night sky.

_4\. Everyone loves a bit of music. Find a Muggle radio station (instructions in our next issue!) and listen to him sing along to his favourite tunes._

Dean groaned, clutching his head in his hands. He couldn’t read any more. He couldn’t comprehend how this was even happening. How many of Castiel’s friendly gestures had been pulled straight from this magazine? How had this slipped Dean’s notice all these years? For so long he’d skim-read the _Witch Weekly_ articles and gone straight for the fashion, and now he realised he’d missed a great big glaring neon-bright clue that Castiel was not all he seemed.

“You’re upset,” Castiel said, resting on the edge of the desk, just in front of Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Cas, I thought— I thought what we had was...” His voice caught in his throat. “How much of our time together _wasn’t_ a lie?”

“A lie?!” Castiel’s eyes were wide and worried when Dean looked up. “Dean, I never meant to lie.”

“Then what’s this?” Dean waggled the magazine. “I read four lines of this and it’s like I’m reading out of the novel of my life! What part of our relationship isn’t founded on _crap_? Badly-written crap, to top it all off! These aren’t _hints_ , Cas, these are— This is practically a guide to predatory seduction.”

Castiel’s mouth drew into a sullen, flat line.

Dean gulped, folding the magazine closed. He set it slowly onto the desk, where another quarter of it disintegrated into colourful ash.

“Dean...”

“ _What_ , Cas?” Dean glared up at him, throwing waves of betrayal in his direction. “What’s your excuse, huh?”

“Dean, I—” Castiel breathed harshly, frowning at the floor. “I’m autistic.”

“Aut... What?”

“Autistic. I’m not good at... people. And other things. I have trouble processing my senses, I get obsessive, I can be oversensitive to everyday stimuli, I take phrases literally, I’m—” Castiel covered his face with both hands, sighed, then let go. “Without guidance I had no idea how to even talk to you, let alone maintain a healthy relationship.”

Dean’s eyebrows drifted from their deep frown, and instead he was left staring, unsure what to feel.

“It wasn’t your tips alone that helped me learn how to communicate effectively with a class of children,” Castiel said. He touched the magazine, then curled his hand into a fist on its moving cover. “I needed this magazine to overcome my fear of... talking to people. Before this, no matter how hard I tried, I got it wrong every time.”

Dean felt his mouth twitch in a slight downward push. Was he upset, was he relieved? Was he angry? He really didn’t know.

Castiel sighed, sliding both hands to his thighs, holding his own hand. “My potion... The secret one.”

Dean looked up, and they gazed at each other for a few seconds.

“What was it for?” Dean asked, although he was convinced he knew the answer.

“I wanted to cure my autism,” Castiel said. “I wanted to be normal.”

Dean had expected to hear those words, but they still hurt like a punch to the gut. “Cas, you are normal.”

“No, I’m not,” Castiel laughed. “I’m not. You have no idea how _difficult_ things are for me! I look fine to you, but that’s because it’s all _inside_ me, it’s all—” He flushed, a sneering fury rising in his eyes that scared Dean for a moment.

It faded.

More calmly, Castiel spoke, and he said, “ _Years_ , Dean. It’s taken me years of my life to think and act more like other people. Even my clothes. If I dressed the way I wanted I would walk through the hallways draped in only a jersey blanket. I can’t stand clothes against my skin, I can’t bear the fabric! I hate textures, I hate smells, I hate loud noises—”

Castiel folded forward, gripping the back of his neck so tightly that his fingers whitened. “You can never understand. You aren’t like me; you don’t know. Charlie... Charlie sometimes understands. She understand more than anyone I’ve ever met. But she’ll never _know_.”

Dean shifted forward an inch in his chair, wanting to be closer to Castiel. “I want to understand too,” he said. “I didn’t know autism was all of that, I thought it was... angry children. I don’t know. Unresponsive, obsessive kids. Or— Or like Rain Man. In that movie.”

Castiel looked at Dean blankly. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“I know,” Dean chuckled. “I know, don’t worry.”

Castiel watched Dean carefully for a few more seconds.

“It’s different for everyone,” Castiel said at last. “Charlie told me autistic traits come in a wide spectrum, the way gender is a spectrum and sexual orientation is a spectrum. People can have one trait and not another, or a lot of one problem and nothing of something else, but nobody’s quite _better_ or _worse_ than anyone else. We just cope differently. And our behaviour affects the people around us differently.”

Dean stayed quiet, just nodded.

“Ahh...” Castiel looked away, muttering, “I wish my parents had known that.”

Dean sat up straighter, alert. Castiel had only spoken of his parents once before, and for them to come up in this particular conversation intrigued Dean.

Castiel drew a breath, sliding his hands from his lap to the burnt sides of the desk. He held on, as if stabilising himself. “I was given up for adoption,” he said, eyes flicking to Dean, then away again. “I was five. As you know, the world was chaotic back then. Voldemort was still gaining power and Death Eaters were everywhere; wizards were forced into hiding. Of course, even once the war was over, nobody wanted to adopt me. I grew up under the protection of the Ministry, and over that time I was told repeatedly... whenever I asked, I was told my parents were pureblood, a high-profile witch and wizard. Famous, I think. I like to think they were a great Potions master and a celebrated Arithmancer. And that’s why I love potions like I do, and numbers.”

He pushed his lips together gently, sighing and letting his shoulders slump. “It’s not true. I don’t know who they are, and I won’t ever know. The records containing the history of my past were sealed, and I wasn’t allowed to open them until I came of age, on my seventeenth birthday.”

“Did you get them?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “I was meant to be studying for my F.R.O.G.s, but I couldn’t focus with the scroll sitting there on my desk. The enchanted seal had gone unbroken for twelve years. The only person in my life who knew what was inside was my handler, Ms. Raglan.”

“So what did it say?” Dean urged.

Castiel huffed, eyes drifting to the dark ceiling of his classroom. “I was given away because my parents, whoever they were, had to go into hiding. Combined with the stress of the war, they could no longer cope with my bad behaviour. I’m told young parents often have to deal with their child’s tantrums, but... mine would go on for hours, I’d be hospitalised because I wouldn’t eat, I screamed when it was time for bed – because I hated the sheets, but they didn’t know that at the time... I was a danger to my parents. I could’ve given our position away.”

He peered down at Dean, a shine of tears in his haunted eyes. “I never grew out of those behaviours. Nothing’s changed. Only nowadays I keep quiet when I want to scream, and I do what I can to avoid my triggers.”

With a hard gulp, Castiel bowed his head, gazing at the floor. “All the magic we have, Dean, all the fantastic things in the world we live in... All the medicine and all the knowledge even the _Muggles_ keep on the subject, and still there was nothing that could be done for me. I was alone until I met Charlie. And then, I only had her until I had you.”

Dean turned his face away, aching for Castiel, but wanting to hide his sadness. Dean had grown up friendless and parentless himself, but he’d had Sam, and he’d coped fine with the scratchy, smelly sheets on his bed. A gross bed was better than no bed at all, he’d always thought. But now he wondered if there were worse things.

“As hard as I tried,” Castiel sighed, “I could never find myself a cure.” One shoulder rose and fell. “Well, you were there. You know.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. For once he did know.

“Listen...” Dean looked Castiel in the eye, and he said to him, “Cas... I’m sorry about everything you went through, I’m sorry about your parents. But I can’t imagine what you’d be like if you weren’t the way you are now.”

Castiel looked as if he wanted to argue, so Dean stood to silence him, a gentle touch of charcoal-black fingers upon his soft pink lips.

“I love who you are now,” Dean said. “Just like Charlie and Sam do. And I hope... some part of you does too. Look at what you’ve become!” Dean smiled, moving his hand from Castiel’s mouth, stroking his cheek instead, using the backs of his fingers so he didn’t leave a black mark. “You teach. You made something of yourself, someone the kids can look up to. You get yourself through every day. And you manage to slip by under everyone’s radar, nobody realises what you are underneath...”

Dean exhaled. His words could more easily be applied to himself.

“And,” Dean smiled, “you can take a bunch of one-line suggestions out of a fashion magazine and turn it into a long list of nights I’m never gonna forget. Maybe those moments weren’t as genuine as I thought at the time, but that doesn’t make them any less... y’know, special.”

Castiel smiled gratefully, tilting his head so his cheek pushed into Dean’s hand. “You still don’t understand,” Castiel said. “It’s about me trying to ease my own struggle, nothing to do with anybody or anything else. Maybe once, long ago, it was about you. That hasn’t been true for a long time. But thank you anyway. Your reassurance is... wholeheartedly appreciated.”

Dean half-smirked, sucking his bottom lip.

They gazed into each other’s eyes, Dean again dazed by his proximity to Castiel, by his warmth. And by the sweetness in his stare, a look of unmitigated fondness.

“Cas?” Dean asked, the name barely a whisper.

“Hm?” Castiel asked, his eyes sinking to Dean’s lips.

Dean wet his lips, surprised to see Castiel’s pupils expand in the candlelight.

Castiel blinked twice, realising Dean hadn’t spoken. He looked up again. “Is something the matter?”

“No...” Dean shrugged slowly. “No, I... I just wanted to make sure you know.”

“Know what?”

“How much I care about you,” Dean said, shutting his eyes. “I always got that you had a hard time figuring out my expressions; I know you catalogued them, or somethin’ like that.”

“Grumpy face, happy face, embarrassed face,” Castiel listed. “There’s at least fifty-four more, plus sub-categories, including embarrassed because of fear, embarrassed because of arousal—”

“Okay— Okay!” Dean chuckled. The chuckle quieted, and now Dean simply smiled. “But it’s important you catalogue this face too. The way I’m... The way I’m lookin’ at you right now.”

Castiel’s eyes skipped back and forth between Dean’s, to his mouth, to his forehead, back to his eyes. “Alright?”

“This face means... I care about you.”

“I know that face already, it’s not the same as what I memorised,” Castiel said. “Sam has the same expression. This is different.”

“Okay, but, like...” Dean clenched his hands, then made them relax. “It means... It’s more intimate. Than Sam, I mean.”

“The candlelight is the reason for your dilated pupils,” Castiel said.

“No, it’s not,” Dean said quickly. “It’s not the candles. And it’s not the candles making your eyes dark either. And it’s not the candles making us stand this close.”

Their faces were barely two inches apart. Their breath mingled, warm on each other’s chins.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, wanting nothing more than to melt into Castiel, to taste his lips. “This... All of this. Th-The way I’m looking at you. It means...” Dean’s breath stuttered. “Ih— It means—”

“I know,” Castiel said. “Dean, it’s okay, I know what it means. I’m autistic; I’m not clueless.”

Dean leaned back.

Castiel laughed, hiding his face with a hand. “I’m sorry. I like it when you get flustered.”

Dean let out a harsh huff. “You were just gonna let me say that— _Do_ that?!”

“No,” Castiel said. “Contrary to what you said about that article, I know the difference between genuine affection and, as you put it... ah... predatory seduction. I, um.” He scratched the back of his head, looking bashful. “I didn’t realise we would come so far tonight.”

The amusement drained from him, and he peered up through his dark eyelashes, giving Dean a soft, understanding look. “I won’t use the tips from the magazine any more,” Castiel said. “It makes you uncomfortable. As much as it’s helped up ‘til now, I don’t want our time together to play out like a script any more than you do. I can’t say I enjoy unstructured activities all that much, but I can definitely still appreciate the importance of spontaneity.”

Dean nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh— Okay. Alright. Thanks?”

With a soft laugh, Castiel pushed off the desk and stepped up to Dean, pulling him into a hug. Dean relaxed immediately, nuzzling his chin against Castiel’s shoulder.

Then he wrapped his arms around Castiel’s muscular waist, holding him tight for a while.

Unshared kisses aside, Dean hadn’t realised until now how badly he’d just wanted to _hug_.

As they embraced, Castiel stroked Dean’s short hair with one hand. Dean enjoyed it for what it was, refusing to think about what he didn’t have, what could’ve been but wasn’t.

When Castiel pulled back, Dean held on, uttering a soft, “No...”

Castiel let Dean hug him for longer.

Dean eventually gave a sigh, and he slid out from Castiel’s comforting hold. They smiled at each other, both shy for some reason.

“I think you’d better get to bed,” Castiel said kindly. “It must be after three already.”

Dean blinked in surprise – he’d forgotten how late it was. Whenever he was with Cas, time seemed to disappear. Over the years he’d grown to accept it, always forgetting that two hours’ sleep was not adequate for teaching school the next day.

“Right. Well... G’night, I guess,” Dean said, reaching up to touch Castiel’s neck. “See you at breakfast.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel said. He leaned in, and before Dean knew it, he’d been kissed upon the cheek. Castiel stepped back, offering a tired smile.

With an oddly satisfied feeling in his heart, Dean turned to step off the dais, leaving Castiel behind at the desk.

Dean got a few steps, then he paused and looked back. “Hey, uh... Sucks about your radio,” he said. “I’m – pretty good at fixing things. So long as it’s not too burnt, I think I could do it up again for you.” He grinned and winked at Castiel. “I like to think I’m clever. Maybe if you’re feelin’ sharp, you could pay attention. You never know, you might learn something about radios.”

Castiel’s laugh came out as a scruffy, hummy kind of noise. “I may take you up on that,” he agreed.

And that was their farewell for the night. Dean left the door to the Potions room open, knowing Castiel would head to bed when he’d reorganised the notes lost from his scorched desk.

Dean went to bed smiling. Funnily enough, he dreamed about Castiel for the first time in a long time.

Cas truly was the wizard of Dean’s dreams.

  
**☆**  
  



	11. Mrs. Bradbury’s House

**{ PART IV }  
**

“Dean, Cas, hurry _up_!” Sam shouted, beckoning from where he stood in the middle of the teachers’ common room. “Gertrude’s waiting!”

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Castiel said in a huff, striding across the room, weighed down by Moosh’s cage. “Dean had to shrink this down for me.”

Dean came after Castiel, his wand held in his hand.

“Enjoy your magic while it lasts,” Charlie smiled. “A whole eighteen days without your wand is going to be a real shock to the system.”

“I survived eleven years without a wand, I think I can survive two weeks,” Dean scoffed, tucking his wand into his belt loop. He bent to gather up his luggage, suitcases and bags and the cage containing Baby Batman. The little bat screeched in excitement, and Dean hushed him, busy counting the bags. “Alright,” Dean said after a moment. “I think we got everything.”

“Sure?” Charlie asked. Castiel, Dean and Sam looked around themselves, checking nothing was missing. They nodded one by one, and Charlie smiled. “Okay. Everyone grab my hands, and hold on tight.”

Charlie waited until she felt the grip of three strong hands; Sam held her right hand, Dean held her left, and Castiel gripped her left wrist securely. Charlie took a deep breath, thought of home, and Disapparated from Jinxes.

It seemed like all the weight of the three men, their luggage and their familiars squashed into Charlie; she gasped but no air came to her, and for a moment she was blind. Then she felt the ground under her feet, and she crouched, exhausted. Three hefty thumps arrived at her side, and she finally took her breath, relieved that side-along Apparition had worked with so many people.

“So this is Bradbury Manor,” Dean said, while helping Charlie up.

Ahead of the group was a small and untidy cottage, overgrown with weeds and dead flowers, all frosty from the night. One window was boarded up with plywood, but the other one shone orange through the curtain, flickering with the occasional blue of a television screen.

“I wouldn’t call it a manor,” Charlie grinned. “But I’m glad to see it anyway.” She looked to the right, seeing an extensive row of similar houses. In the pre-dawn light of winter, even a Los Angeles suburb looked festive. Flashing fairy lights decorated other people’s roofs and windows, and Charlie saw a glowing menorah a few houses down.

“Are we going in or what?” Dean asked, already pushing at the gate. “Don’t know about you, but I want breakfast.”

The four of them made their way down the gravel path, suitcases bumping their legs, rattling their animals’ cages. Sam’s toad croaked inside his terrarium, presumably unhappy about being out of Arizona all of a sudden. He didn’t like to travel.

Charlie stepped up onto the porch, breathing out a cloud of white. She knocked on the front door. A happy jitter filled her belly as she heard her mother get up from her chair and cross the living room, her slippers tapping on the tiles in front of the door.

The door opened, and Charlie grinned. “Hey, Mom.”

“Charlie,” Gertrude cried, arms wide to welcome her daughter. “Oh, you look wonderful.”

“It’s six in the morning, you’re imagining things,” Charlie said, her cheek squashed against her mother’s warm shoulder. “Mmm, you smell like oatmeal.”

“I made you some. Come in, come in!” Gertrude moved back, beckoning in the three men standing in the cold. “Bring your animals too. I have a room set up for you already.” She pottered away, rolling up the sleeves of her striped sweater. She went straight to the kitchen, lifting the lid of a steaming pot. She looked back over her shoulder, and Charlie grinned at her. It had been five months since they last saw each other, so this was a welcome moment.

Dean put all his luggage down in front of the old couch, then flopped into it with a smile and a sigh. Sam put his large case on top of Dean’s and his smaller one on a chair, then moved it again, putting it beside the fish tank. He bent down, smiling at the fish.

The living room wasn’t large at all; five people barely fit, but the luggage made it impossible to walk. Castiel held onto his things, both hands grasping the handle of his single suitcase.

“Why don’t you let Moosh out?” Charlie suggested, taking her coat off and draping it on the back of the couch. “She won’t fly away.”

Dean did the honours, leaning forward to unlock the cage. Moosh hopped out onto his fingers, and Dean made kissy noises at her. She chakked back, and Dean grinned. “Yeah, that’s right. Gertrude's being real nice, letting us crash here. We’re real grateful.” He looked up, catching Gertrude’s eye as she came into the living room.

“Oh, don’t thank me. It’s just something a good parent does,” Gertrude said, handing Dean a bowl of hot oatmeal. “Now, there’s chocolate shavings on the table if you want them, or berries, or banana. Or syrup, I bought some ‘specially...”

“Mom, you didn’t have to do all this,” Charlie said softly, accepting the oatmeal she was handed.

“You bring friends around, and I’ll have them fed and watered as best I can,” Gertrude said. “There’s nothing wrong with being too kind.”

She looked older than Charlie remembered, and she was always beautiful: Charlie still hoped she would look just like her mom when she got to be Gertrude’s age. They had the same hair and the same eyes, but Gertrude was a little plumper, and her round face suited her bubbly ways.

When Charlie and Castiel had bunched up on the couch either side of Dean, and all of them had tucked into their oatmeal (Charlie’s was dotted with berries, Castiel’s was approximately half syrup, and Dean’s was dark brown with chocolate), Gertrude finally sat down, and she pushed the berries closer to Sam.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Sam smiled. “I put salt and pepper in mine.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a freak,” Dean said, spooning brown sludge into his mouth, slurping.

“I’ll have none of that!” Gertrude said sharply. “ _Charlie_ , you said your friend Dean was sweet as a baby lamb.”

Dean looked at Charlie in alarm. “You said that?!”

Charlie raised her hands, caught out. “Maybe.”

“Listen here, Mr. Winchester,” Gertrude said, looking at Dean sternly. “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

Dean beamed at her, chocolate smeared all around his mouth.

Charlie grinned and went back to squishing berries against the bottom of her bowl.

  
**☆**  
  


When they were all finished eating, and they’d had a good chat (about school, mostly, since Charlie’s mom was a wizarding elementary school teacher, and therefore they had some choice anecdotes to compare), Gertrude pulled out a neat leather case from a cabinet. It was a few inches longer than her forearm, and twice as wide.

“I’ve had this ever since I was a little girl,” she said. “Whenever I came home from school for the summer, or over winter or spring break, my mom would pull this case out, and she’d say, ‘Gertie, it’s time to put the magic away’. Because, as you know, we lived in a Muggle community. As I still do. And before you’ve graduated, you’re not allowed to do magic outside of school. It’s best to hide the wand, and that way you help keep the wizarding world unseen.”

Gertrude stroked the box fondly, wrinkles appearing at the corners of her eyes. “I think it’s a fantastic way to enjoy life. Without a magical conductor to focus our power, life becomes about being aware of your surroundings, truly recognising what you’re doing with yourself. For a young witch or wizard, or even a grown-up, controlling the power inside is so important. Without a wand, we learn how to behave mindfully.”

She opened up the box, showing off its empty insides. A cushion of red velvet was worn thin around five long grooves, just the right size for wands.

“Now, I must ask,” Gertrude said, looking around the room, “are you certain you’re up for this? As magic folk, we often don’t realise how attached we’ve become to our wands until they’re gone.”

“Don’t worry, I talked them into it,” Charlie grinned.

“I’m up for the challenge,” Sam agreed. “As an experiment, I think it could offer a chance to self-reflect.”

“I’m more worried about Cas,” Dean said, leaning forward on the couch, peering around Charlie to meet Castiel’s eyes. “You haven’t been apart from your wand since the day you got it.”

“That was the day you and I met,” Castiel smiled. He leaned forward too, hands linked between his parted knees. “If I’m to catch a glimpse of what it’s like to be a Muggle, find out how all of you grew up, going without a wand is the obvious first step.”

“Eighteen days is a long time,” Gertrude warned.

Castiel pulled his wand from inside his sleeve, sliding it through his fingers. It was made of wood from a white pine tree, with a dragon heartstring core. The calm wood and the furious heart ought to have been at odds, but Castiel found the wand reflected him perfectly. There was a powerful drive in him that not many people got to see. Dean saw it. Sam and Charlie saw it. Gertrude probably saw the white-pine outer, carved into a handsome and strong-looking wand, and she most likely thought Castiel was plain and boring. She might never see the turmoil beneath.

“If I give this wand up,” Castiel said, turning his face towards Gertrude but not meeting her eye, “how do I become mindful? How can I control my thoughts, my urges?”

Gertrude seemed taken aback by the question.

“I rely on magic,” Castiel confessed. “A lot of the time I keep my anxieties in check with calming potions, or small, repetitive charms. Sometimes I’ll just hold my wand,” he curled his hand around the handle, “and it gives me some peace. I don’t like to feel powerless, yet I often am. My wand gives me... a sense of purpose.”

Charlie slid a hand to Castiel’s wrist. “Maybe this isn’t for you, Cas. This exercise.”

“But how do Muggles do it?” Castiel glanced up at her. “There must be thousands – millions of Muggles like me, and they don’t have a wand. They don’t have a list of charms like the one I go through in my head every night before I can sleep. They can’t just tap their wand against the desk and watch the sparks for twenty minutes in one go.”

Gertrude smiled, understanding now. “There are plenty of ways Muggles can stim. I do it myself sometimes.”

“Stim? What?” Dean laughed. His eyes darted to Sam, then back to Gertrude. “Is that— Do you wanna talk in private, or...?”

Gertrude laughed, and Charlie laughed with her.

Gertrude began, “Stimming is a repetitive movement you can do to relax—”

“Uh, yeah, I kinda got that,” Dean interrupted, lowering his head and looking down. He wore his embarrassed-because-of-inappropriate-thoughts face.

“It’s something neurodivergent people – or anyone – can do, to calm themselves,” Gertrude went on, smiling at Dean with bright eyes. “Tapping a wand on a desk. Going through a list of small charms. Autistic Muggles have ways to do the same thing. Finger-wriggling, or clicking, or rocking in place. Stroking a cat. The ways are endless.”

Dean looked up now, licking his lips. He still had colour on his cheeks, but he wasn’t flustered any more. Castiel caught Charlie’s eye, and they both smiled.

“Try this,” Gertrude said to Castiel, lifting her hand to her ear. She pinched her earlobe gently, rubbing it. “That’ll calm you. It was always a good distraction for Charlie when she was young, when she went to have her vaccinations, or when she’d get upset. I’d get her to focus on this, forget everything else for the time being.”

Castiel surreptitiously touched his ear, tugging on his earlobe. He wasn’t sure if he felt anything, but having been assured it was calming, he supposed it would work. Placebos occasionally worked for him as well as the real thing.

“Take slow, measured breaths,” Gertrude nodded. “And if there’s someone else around, and you feel okay socialising, ask them to help.” Her eyes moved to Dean, then to Sam. “Ask what he needs, and if he just wants to be left alone, leave him be.”

Sam nodded. When Gertrude looked at Dean, Dean gave her a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Dean then looked over at Castiel, a warmth in his eyes that made Castiel feel comforted. He let his fingers slide down from his ear and into his lap, and he handled his wand one last time. He nodded, and he passed it to Dean, who passed it to Gertrude.

Then Dean passed her his own wand, Sam handed over his, and Charlie relinquished hers last. Gertrude put them all neatly into the box, and she smiled.

“My, don’t these make a pretty picture,” she said. She tilted the box, showing the four wands to those around her. All four wands were light in colour, their handles neatly aligned with the edge of the box. Castiel found it strange, but he could almost see himself and his three friends side-by-side in the container, as though part of them was about to be locked away.

Charlie pulled out her camera, and she stood up to take a picture. A white flash spread across the room, gone in an instant. “There,” she said. “Two-and-a-half weeks living as Muggles, starting _now_.”

  
**☆**  
  


The entire day was more-or-less spent simply talking and eating. By lunchtime Sam felt like he couldn’t eat another thing, but then Gertrude brought out cherry tarts, and he couldn’t resist.

They played a few games of Scrabble. Sam hadn’t played a game with real plastic letters before – as a kid they’d only had squares cut out of cereal boxes. Besides vinyl records, Castiel had never touched plastic before in his life. He said he liked it. The letter Q was his favourite, presumably because he added ‘Q-U-I-D-D’ to Dean’s ‘I-T-C-H’ and everyone groaned before resentfully praising him.

Dean showed Cas how to work the TV, and Castiel was again fascinated. He, Dean, and Sam watched a double episode of _Looney Tunes_ , and throughout the entire fifteen minutes, Castiel kind of looked as though his world had been turned upside down. When the credits rolled, Sam laughed in delight, and handed Castiel the remote control. “There’s more where that came from, buddy,” he said, patting him on the back and leaving him to watch whatever he wanted.

Sam joined Charlie and Gertrude in the kitchen, and while they chatted, catching up, Sam went ahead and made everyone some dinner. Dean had taught him to cook years ago. Sam still remembered how to turn a gas oven on, and he knew how to season and bake whole potatoes. Charlie got out all the fillings from the cupboard, and soon Dean helped them, taking cutlery from Gertrude and placing it very precisely on the dinner table.

They dished out their supper while it was steaming hot. Sam found a place to sit on the couch, since there were only two seats at the table and he supposed Gertrude and Charlie ought to have them. But Dean made sure Cas got one of the seats, pulling out the chair for him to sit.

“Sorry it’s not perfect,” Dean said. “That’s how a table placement looks when you don’t have house elves.”

“Dean, you should take the other seat,” Charlie said, nudging Dean.

“What? No, it’s your mom’s seat,” Dean said, ushering Gertrude over.

“No, Dean should have it,” Charlie insisted, giving Gertrude a pointed look. “He set the table, he should sit with Cas. Shouldn’t he, Mom?”

“No, c’mon, Charlie, I really don’t need to—”

“Sit down, honey,” Gertrude said, pushing Dean into the seat. Dean sat. “Bon appetit!”

Gertrude squashed up alongside Charlie on the couch.

“What was that about?” Sam asked Charlie beside him, frowning.

“Shh,” Charlie whispered. “Just watch them.”

Sam wasn’t clued in to the joke, but he sat with the women and all three of them ate quietly, watching to see what Dean and Castiel would do.

“Uh,” Dean said. He held himself stiff, hands clutched around his fork and knife. “Well, the food looks awesome.”

“Yes, it does,” Castiel said, sprinkling cheese on his potato. “Could you pass the butter, please?”

Dean passed the butter. He only had to move it five inches farther from him.

“Could you pass the salt, please?”

Dean passed the salt. His hand brushed Castiel’s.

Dean ate some of his overstuffed, flavour-overloaded potato, eyes on Castiel.

Castiel ate some of his buttery, cheesy, salty potato, and he gazed back at Dean.

Dean smiled. His mouth was full, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s. It did not make for a pretty sight, Sam thought, but Castiel smiled back.

“You have a little schmutz,” Castiel said, pointing at Dean’s lip.

Dean hesitated, then touched his mouth.

“Left a bit. No, right a bit.”

Dean kept missing. Sam could see he was doing it on purpose. No way he _didn’t_ feel that oozy wet drip of baked-bean sauce running down his chin.

“Here,” Castiel said softly, taking his napkin from his lap. He leaned over the table, cupping Dean’s jaw in his hand, wiping him with the other. He smirked. “That’s better.”

When he pulled back and returned to eating, Dean seemed to have forgotten how to chew. He sat with a goofy smile on his face for quite some time, until Sam cleared his throat – “ _Ahum!_ ” – and only then did Dean blink out of his stupor and look down at his food.

Charlie snickered very quietly. Sam stared past her at his brother and Castiel, marvelling at this open display of... of something. Sam couldn’t quite place what was going on. He was still wary, wondering if Charlie’s seating arrangement had led the jury, so to speak, but it certainly seemed like Dean... had a tiny crush on Cas.

Nah. Sam had to be seeing things. Dean wasn’t into dudes.

And more importantly, Dean and Cas were just friends.

...Weren’t they?

  
**☆**  
  


Their bedroom for the night was Charlie’s old room. From the moment Dean walked in, he felt at peace. Dozens of origami birds dangled from the angled ceiling, which was painted blue with white clouds. There was only one bed, but on the floor there was a large blue yoga mat topped with a sleeping bag, and beside that was an ancient mattress, covered with a sheet with pink bunnies on it.

One lamp lit the room from the nightstand – a nightstand which was pasted with stickers of hippogriffs and phoenixes. Dean assumed they’d once been charmed to make them move, but the magic had worn off years ago.

“Play you for the mattress,” Sam said, showing Dean a fist curled on top of his palm.

Dean mirrored him, and on one, two, _three_ , Dean played scissors, and Sam played rock. Sam grinned, and dumped his overnight bag on the end of the bunny mattress.

“What was that?” Castiel asked, moving past Dean, touching his lower back.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Have you seriously never seen us play rock-paper-scissors?”

Castiel shrugged, putting his bag on the yoga mat. “I’ve seen you do it before, but I’d like to know the rules.”

“Alright, well—”

Charlie tapped Dean on the shoulder, and he turned to he looked back at her.

“You’re blocking the door, big guy,” Charlie said. “Shove over. You ‘n me are on the bed.”

Dean watched her head for the bed, her smaller figure edging around Sam and Castiel’s bulky shapes. “You and me?”

“Yeah.” Charlie pointed a pair of finger guns at Dean. “No funny business.”

“Gross, you’re like my sister,” Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Hope you don’t mind my feet in your face.”

“Hope you cut your toenails,” Charlie replied, grinning.

Dean ducked his head, smiling. When he looked up, he caught Castiel’s eye again. “So. Rock-paper-scissors.” He lifted a hand, and he began to explain.

  
**☆**  
  


“So this is what phoenixes do when they fall in love, huh?” Dean grinned, following Charlie and Gertrude into Gertrude’s bedroom. In one corner was a large copper pipe fastened over a silver serving tray, stuck on a plinth at Dean’s chest-height: a makeshift ashtray, essentially. Perched on the pipe were two newly-adult phoenixes, their fiery tails dangling almost to the carpet, their golden feathers entwined. With curious eyes, they watched Dean approach.

Dean thought they were beautiful. He smiled, feeling a warmth spread out inside his belly. He was probably making the same face he made when he was handed babies to hold – newborn house elves, or those tiny kittens that were discovered in the school basement, or any fellow teacher’s new baby – and he didn’t even care how dewy-eyed he looked right now. One phoenix curled its peacock-like head protectively over the other, and they shut their eyes contentedly. Dean narrowly avoided making a very embarrassing noise in response to the sight.

“Firelash is expecting her egg in about two months,” Gertrude said softly, keeping her voice down for the birds’ sake. “Inferno won’t leave her side.”

“I’ve had to use the school’s phoenixes for my post, these past six months.” Charlie smiled, putting one hand into a pocket of her jeans. “Not that I mind. I just miss you so much, that’s all,” she said, cooing at her beloved Inferno. She tickled his cheek, and the phoenix trilled, rubbing his face against her finger.

Dean watched this with some contentment. But as Charlie and Gertrude began to talk between themselves, Dean found his attention drifting. He tried not to be rude and look at Gertrude’s bedroom uninvited, instead focusing just on the birds. However, his eyes wandered of their own accord.

The light was soft in here, coming from a single lampshade beside the double bed. The lilac bed covers looked comfortable – not new, but lived-in – and the comforter was folded back. A library book rested on top, with a cat-shaped bookmark sticking out.

Dean knew it was weird to start daydreaming about Charlie’s mother’s _bed_ , but there was something about this room that made Dean’s heart ache – in a good way.

Soft, motherly smells... Faded perfume, washing powder, a little dust. It was so similar to how he’d imagined his own mother’s room to be, all his life. Perhaps he’d even dreamed about this very room before.

Dean considered that, maybe, he wanted Gertrude to be his mother, to replace years of emptiness and the absence of a stranger he’d never known. A warm figure with a friendly smile and a happy laugh; that was all he remembered from his childhood. Or, did Dean want the room to be his own? For a gentle, giddy moment, Dean imagined himself having a room just like this. The bed would even be the same size, so there’d be room beside him for... someone.

Looking away from the bed, Dean turned his eyes back to Charlie and Gertrude, who were quietly discussing arrangements for the unborn baby phoenix. Dean already knew Charlie would let Gertrude keep all three birds. She’d discussed it so often with Dean.

“Dean?”

Dean turned at the sound of his name. He smiled, seeing Castiel hesitate to enter the bedroom out of politeness.

“Come in,” Dean said, cocking his head invitingly.

“Oh,” Castiel breathed as his eyes lighted on the phoenix couple. “I’ve never seen mated phoenixes. Not even in my F.R.O.G. year, when I was researching gestation for my Care of Magical Creatures coursework.” He pressed up to Dean’s side, staring ahead with his eyes shining. “They’re so perfect together, aren’t they?”

“Mm,” Dean said.

“Dean?”

Dean raised his eyebrows, meeting Castiel’s inquisitive eyes. “What?”

“Aren’t they perfect together?”

Dean’s lips parted. “Uh. Sure. I guess?” His eyebrows twitched closer as he looked at the birds. With one extended look, his heart melted all over again. God, they were so... _cute_. He sighed, smiling. Then he blinked and stood straighter, making a gruff noise. “I don’t know, do I? They’re _birds_ , Cas. What do you want me to say, exactly? They’re star-crossed lovers? Destined for each other? You know that sounds ridiculous, right? They’re just animals. It’s about getting what they need to further their species, it’s nothing to do with love.”

Charlie turned around to stare at Dean along with Castiel. “Hey,” Charlie said firmly, but quietly. “Quit with the bad vibes, would you? Just ‘cause you’re romantically challenged doesn’t mean you have to rain on everyone else’s parade. Be nice, or go sit outside. This is meant to be a peaceful sanctuary.”

Dean chilled all over, realising what he’d said. “I – I didn’t— I wasn’t—”

“Shush,” Castiel said, frowning at Dean, placing a stubborn finger against his lips to silence him. “Keep your opinions to yourself, Dean. You’re tarnishing the sanctum.”

Dean took a deep breath, blinking and looking hastily away when Castiel lowered his hand. Dean’s eyes roamed the bed again, feeling a strange anxiety take hold. He felt as though nobody quite understood him right now. He wanted to tell everyone in the room that all he craved was a mom – he just wanted a house, and a partner – and he wanted to be Firelash, cared for by her beloved mate, soon to be caring for another...

It always came out wrong. It sounded like the thing he wanted was a thing he hated, when in actual fact, that wasn’t true at all.

“I— I’m gonna go, uh...” Dean turned around, waving a hand vaguely. “See you in a bit.”

Behind him, he heard Castiel whisper, “Bye.” Charlie and Gertrude carried on talking when he was gone.

  
**☆**  
  


By midnight, Gertrude had turned in for the night, and Charlie and Castiel were still in the living room, feeding all the animals and putting them to bed.

Sam traipsed into Charlie’s room after his shower, topless, his waist wrapped in a towel.

“Ugh, put some clothes on,” Dean said, holding a hand up between him and his brother.

“That’s what I came in here to do,” Sam said, pulling fresh underwear out of his bag. The bunny mattress dipped deeply under the weight of his feet.

Dean was perched on the corner of the bed, filing his toenails. He usually did this by magic, so having to handle a nail clipper after so many years seemed like too dangerous a task. He’d opted for a file, since he could go slow and he wasn’t likely to cut himself.

Castiel came in behind Sam. He saw him shirtless and immediately averted his eyes. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

Sam moved, letting Castiel past.

Dean hummed a long note, brushing white dust off his toes. His eyes roamed the walls, admiring the décor choices of the teenaged Charlie Bradbury. Posters of famous witches were pinned up at eye-height, including one of the all-woman Quidditch team of New York. Some posters moved, some didn’t. There was one of Whitney Houston, and one of the Scooby Gang and their Mystery Van from _Scooby Doo_.

“I wonder if we’ll ever have a house like this,” Dean said, thinking how quaint it all was. “Kitchen, bathroom, couple of bedrooms, little garden out front. Tank full of goldfish.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Sam asked, putting on a grey t-shirt. “You and me?”

Dean’s eyes flicked to him, then to Cas, then down. “Yeah,” he said brightly, trying to mask the lie. “You ‘n me.”

Sam was quiet for a moment.

When Dean looked up, Sam was staring at Castiel.

Castiel was folding a cravat, expressionless.

Dean swallowed. He got back to filing his nails, head bowed so Sam couldn’t his face.

  
**☆**  
  



	12. Roadtrip

At ten o’clock the following morning, Dean walked into the living room and clapped his hands together so loudly that Moosh startled and nearly fell into the fishtank. “Right!” Dean announced. “The car’s outside. She’s a real beauty. Can’t wait to get inside her.” He grinned gleefully out of the window over the couch, seeing the black shape through the lace curtain. Then he looked down at Charlie, Sam, and Cas, who were still eating breakfast. “Come _on_! Move your butts! We have a road trip to get underway!”

It took another twenty... thirty... _forty_ minutes, but eventually, the group collected at the door. Most of their things had been packaged up and left behind in Charlie’s bedroom. They wouldn’t be able to fit all their cases in the trunk of a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. She was big, but not _that_ big.

“Essentials only,” Dean said, marching up and down the living room, like a sergeant giving orders to his troops. “No food in the car, no drinks, no smoking—”

“We don’t smoke,” Charlie said.

“Just in case,” Dean said. “No dogs, no bugs, no mud, nothing sticky—”

Moosh chak-chak-chakked, and Castiel lifted his hand, letting her fly to perch on him.

“No pooping,” Dean said, looking directly at the magpie. “And that goes for you too, Baby Batman.” Dean gave the bat on his shoulder a quick tickle under the chin.

“We have everything,” Sam said, shouldering his backpack. “Except Mr. Toad. Be good, Mr. Toad. Be nice to Gertrude for me.”

Dean nodded, and he saluted Gertrude, who sat in a dining chair.

“Drive safe,” Gertrude said.

Dean nodded. “So long and thanks for all the fish, ma’am.”

“We’re leaving the fish here, Dean,” Castiel said.

“Yes we are, Cas,” Dean said cheerfully, making an about turn. “By the riiiight, quick march!”

He led his soldiers out of the house and down the path, full to the brim with happiness. There, parked halfway up onto the sidewalk, was the most beautiful creature Dean had ever seen in his life. A black stallion of a car with sleek, long sides that seemed to go on forever, a gorgeous nose, gleaming silver wheel rims...

“Oh, you beauty,” Dean groaned, pasting himself to the Impala’s side. He kissed her roof, basking in the warmth that reflected off the metal. “You have no idea how badly I wish you weren’t a rental.”

“So when did you learn to drive, Dean?” Charlie asked, popping open the back door, taking a look inside. Pristine tan leather seats, no seatbelts. Glorious. Dangerous. Perfect.

“I didn’t,” Dean said. He leant against the car, stroking her shiny silver rims. “Well, at least not officially.”

“He means he stole a car,” Sam said, rolling his eyes as he put his things into the car’s roomy trunk. “Bobby’s truck.”

“Bobby Singer? From the hospital wing at Jinxes?” Charlie looked impressed.

“Hey, I didn’t scratch his precious truck,” Dean said, throwing up his hands. “And I replaced the gas I used. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Dean clambered into his driver’s seat with a sigh of satisfaction. The smell of leather... engine oil... Cas... Oh, yeah, he was in Heaven. Dean purred, arching back into the seat. It made a real leather sound under him, juddering and squeaking.

“Jeez, get a room,” Charlie uttered from behind him.

Dean chuckled, touching the keys that dangled from the ignition. “Ohhh, baby,” he smiled. “This is gonna be a day to remember.”

With that, he turned the key, and the engine chugged, then _roared_ to life. Dean felt wild with exhilaration, and he cried out, “Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” He threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah!”

Still reeling with joy, he placed one foot on the hard metal pedal, revved the engine, then set the car in gear. The moment the back doors were closed, the tires screeched on the tarmac, and the car tore down the street with all four of the wheels on the ground, just the way a real Muggle car was meant to.

  
**☆**  
  


They drove until they found a road that didn’t end. Sam looked at a map, and they navigated in the direction he suggested, but not one of them knew where they were going. They just wanted to see the trees go past and the white lines flash under the wheels, and they wanted to wave at the Muggles they overtook on the highway.

They sang along to songs they barely knew, and they ate at truck-stops that had no other customers, and they drove away from the sun, following the road, chased by the light.

When the sky turned grey and poured rain in their path, Dean turned on the wipers, and they pulled over at a gas station. They didn’t need more fuel – they just wanted to enjoy the rhythm of the rubber across the glass. Swish, thump. Swish, thump. All the while came the _patter-patter-patter_ of rain upon the roof.

Whenever Dean turned to see how Castiel was doing, there was never anything less than a smile on his face. The light broke through the raindrops, casting grey movement over the points of his cheekbones, and there was always a shine in his eyes that would’ve been visible in absolute darkness. He seemed to glow from within. There was no need for a wand; every one of the four friends had magic at their core.

Together, they were strong. Together they were happy.

Together, Dean thought, they made a good family.

When the rain stopped, Dean bought snacks from the gas station. They ate, but then they decided not to drive on that night.

So they slept in the car: Dean in the driver’s seat, Sam beside him. Charlie and Castiel lay with their backs together, and when morning came, they’d slipped down so their heads rested on each other’s knees.

They took turns using the gas station’s restroom, and they bought breakfast.

They drove on.

Six entire days went like this, and they didn’t get bored. They went up the California coast, stopped at Redwoods National Park, and they took a walk. Dean bought an umbrella, and he held it over Castiel’s head as they walked under the ancient, dripping trees.

They stopped at a garden centre with glass walls and a glass ceiling, and Castiel walked around the whole place twice, then returned to the fountains with Dean, pulling him by his hand. “Look,” he said. “This one has a phoenix in it.”

Charlie took a photo of them standing there, hands joined, admiring the stone bird spitting out water. They both turned to look at her, but she ran off straight away, laughing. Castiel was unfazed, but Dean had to hide his smile.

Dean liked that someone else could see what he saw in Cas. He liked that people looked at the two of them and couldn’t deny they had something special.

Most of all, he hoped Castiel realised how easily he could be loved.

Somewhere in the midwest, they stopped at a campsite in a field, and they sat on the roof and watched the sunset. It was a dull and cloudy sunset, but there was a Christmas tree in the camp, hung with what looked like a thousand lights. As the sun went down, the lights got brighter, and when night had fallen, the place dazzled with rainbows. The last of the year’s lightning bugs jittered through the grass, flashing in time with the bassline that played from someone’s car window.

Sam met a woman in the camp who carried a ukelele, and she sang to them about pedigree dogs, and Dean swayed. Castiel swayed with him, until he fell off the car roof.

Then they laughed. And they danced. And Charlie took a picture.

They stopped at an amusement park that had a ferris wheel. Dean had never been on a ferris wheel, although Sam had. Dean insisted he was fine just watching, but Charlie made him go up. At the top of the wheel, Dean had to be talked out of Apparating back to the ground. He hyperventilated and he whimpered, but Castiel held him close. He tugged on his earlobe for him, and sang to him.

_Don’t let this sparkling moment go, my love,_   
_Let our magic sway,_   
_Don’t let this moment pass_   
_Don’t let this moment go, my love—_

In the ferris car directly behind Dean and Castiel, Sam laughed. Charlie pulled out her camera and took a picture. A purple sky reigned in the background, every electric light blurred into bright octagons. Dean and Castiel nestled together, Castiel’s nose buried in Dean’s hair.

_Lay your heart down for me, baby;_   
_Magic sway, magic sway—_   
_These are the years which pass away..._

Back on the ground, Dean ate two sticks of cotton candy and knocked over a milk bottle at the ring toss, then had to insist to the staff that he was just on a sugar high, and the hole in the back of their stand was a perfectly reasonable expression of human strength.

Sam dragged them away, still laughing. They drank peach nectar from glass bottles and they shared a pizza, half topped with olives, pepperoni, mozzarella cheese and ham, half with capers and anchovies and sweetcorn and pineapple. (Castiel tasted a slice from both halves, and could then determine that it didn’t matter what was on it; pizza tasted like happiness. “ _You_ taste like happiness,” Dean replied, before blushing bright pink. He picked all the pineapple off his slices and gave the offending fruit to Sam.)

They drove to a lighthouse on the eastern shore of the country, and they stood in the grey wind, their clothes flapping in violent bursts. They shielded their eyes from the sunrise, watching the straight rays as gold bled between the boiling clouds.

Their faces grew sticky from the salt in the air – and in a sudden gust, Baby Batman blew away.

They chased him a mile north-east on foot, laughing and falling through lumpy grass. They pulled each other up and called for the little brown bat, growing more and more worried when they couldn’t hear his replies over the wind.

At last Sam called “I found him!” and he pulled the tangled bat from a thick tuft of grass.

Sam cradled the exhausted creature in his arms and carried him back to the car, collecting Dean and Cas and Charlie along the way. Their legs ached and their eyes stung, but they smiled, and they took a nap before driving on. The sun shone bright all day.

They returned west, heading towards Tennessee, stopping at more restaurants than they could count, eating more strange foods than they could keep track of. Charlie went through more rolls of camera film than she had room to carry in her backpack, so they bought a pair of shoes just to use the box for the film. Castiel wore the shoes for a whole day, refusing to get out of the car in case he got them dirty. They were slippers shaped like puppies. (Sam got him to take them off eventually. Moosh claimed one and went to sleep, so Castiel had to put his proper shoes on.)

Castiel discovered the joys of a playground slide. Dean liked the monkey bars best. Sam twisted his ankle climbing the rope ladder, and Dean laughed for five minutes before finding him a bottle of cold water to keep the swelling down. Charlie took pictures.

On a Wednesday afternoon, they bought groceries at a supermarket, an activity which Dean decided he enjoyed the most so far. He picked up a cheese grater the size of his thumb. He had no use for it, not even living as a Muggle, but he put it in the cart anyway. Sam grabbed organic yogurt, and Charlie chose a cereal that came with a _Star Wars_ toy. Meanwhile Castiel charged through the aisles, desperately trying to find Dean.

“Dean,” he called, blustering through everyone else in the aisle.

Heads turned. The Muggles saw a man in a waistcoat and a cravat, apparently in a great hurry, approaching another man in a tailored waistcoat, whose hands rested on a shopping cart full of peculiar, useless items.

Dean turned around, and he grinned. Castiel was holding a rubber duck. “Look, Dean.” Castiel squeezed the duck, and it wheezed.

Dean laughed, taking the duck to look at it. “You like that, huh?”

“Ducks don’t look like that,” Castiel said, his expression a mixture of excitement and annoyance. “But I like it anyway.”

Dean gave the duck a few quick squeezes, making it pant and beep. “Cute.” He’d never handled one of these before. He’d never even known anyone who had one. Rubber ducks were a fantastic myth to him, things the kids with parents had in their full-sized bathrooms filled with candles.

“Dean,” Sam said, approaching from Dean’s other side. “I found Christmas decorations.”

Dean watched as Sam tipped a basketful of tinsel and packets of baubles into the cart, along with a miniature plastic tree.

“Where are we gonna put that?” Dean asked, plopping the rubber duck down into a nest of tinsel. “It’s December twenty-ninth; Christmas is over. And it’s another four or five days until we’re back at Gertrude’s place.”

“So that’s four or five days they’ll make the car look good,” Sam smiled.

Dean rolled his eyes, muttering nonsense under his breath. Then he went to find batteries.

They battled a snowstorm in the Ozark mountains. They met ponies at a Colorado petting zoo, and they hand-fed goats and rabbits. They lost each other in an outdoor hedge maze, and re-grouped in the centre three hours later, all covered in leaves. They stood on a bridge together and asked a tourist to take a photo, and they squeezed up close so there was no doubt they were all in frame. They got their faces painted at a children’s park. Dean was a tiger, Cas was a butterfly, Charlie was a cat and Sam was a puppy. (Moosh stole a paintbrush from the artist.)

They watched a firework show at midnight on New Year’s Eve, and they spent New Year’s Day playing Scrabble in the back of the car. Castiel won a lot. Dean came in second every time, no matter who won.

They exchanged gifts. Dean gave Sam the tiny cheese grater. Sam gave a voucher for car fuel to Dean, and a baseball hat to Castiel. Charlie gave everyone a Muggle chocolate bar, and purely by coincidence, everyone gave Charlie other kinds of Muggle candy. Dean gave Castiel a purple rubber duck, “so the yellow one isn’t lonely”. Castiel gave Dean a hug – a long hug – and a bag of treats for Baby Batman. He also showed them all a badge he’d found on the street that said _I’m pretty cool_. Dean and Sam played rock-paper-scissors, and Dean lost on purpose. Sam laughed, and pinned the badge to his hoodie.

“Where to next?” Dean asked, before they settled down to sleep.

“My mom’s place,” Charlie said, hooking a stray hair out of her mouth. “I think it’s time we went home.”

  
**☆**  
  


It was a quiet reunion. They arrived late the following night, but not so late that the lights were off. The TV was on mute, playing a movie from the ‘80s.

Gertrude hugged them all, and she asked how it went. They all spoke at once, and she chuckled.

She showed them the collection of postcards Charlie had sent her along the way. Castiel touched the Muggle postage stamps and he smiled, because he understood what they were for now.

“How was it, two weeks without magic?” Gertrude asked, when everyone was sitting down.

The four of them looked at each other, searching for words. They saw they shared the same expression and they burst out laughing.

“Fun,” Sam said. “Nostalgic, I guess. But I don’t feel like a Muggle again, I feel like—”

“Like an outsider,” Charlie said, smiling at her studded boots. “I wore hoodies and jeans the whole time but I knew I’d be wearing robes again in a matter of weeks. This isn’t me, this life.”

“I liked it,” Castiel said. “I’ve never once _experienced_ —” He took a shaking breath, smiling widely. He gazed at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “It was incredible.” Looking across the room at Gertrude, he nodded. “It was the best two weeks of my life.” Dean put his hand on Castiel’s thigh. He patted him, then slid his hand back to his own lap. Sam noticed, but looked away.

“I’ll put a photo album together,” Charlie promised. “Your photos, my photos.” She smiled at Gertrude. “I took photos mainly of us, but Cas took some great ones. He’d walk way behind us, so he could snap shots of our shoes. And he took loads of pictures of interesting clouds, and the scenery, and Moosh and Baby Batman. Enough to paper a wall.”

“A real artist, Cas is,” Dean said, half teasing, half fond. “Glad I got you that camera for your birthday, huh?”

“Of course,” Castiel said. He peered back at Dean, smiling. “Perhaps I could develop my photographs in regular Muggle developing solution, so they won’t move. Then they would be authentic Muggle... ‘pics.’” He smiled, pleased to make Dean laugh, though he didn’t appear to understand why Dean found his use of slang amusing.

“I’d forgotten how different our two worlds are,” Sam said softly. “Living in the wizarding world is like living in the future and the past at once. We can move objects across the room without leaving our seats, we can dry-shave in the morning without ever cutting ourselves, not to mention a hundred million other things that scientifically ought to be impossible – but our photographs are still in black-and-white, we dress in clothes from a hundred years ago, and there’s a ton of purebloods who’ve never even _heard_ of a supermarket. If the Muggles found out the extent of what we could and couldn’t do, they probably wouldn’t believe it.”

“I believed it,” Dean said quietly. “I got my acceptance letter for Jinxes and I knew instantly it was real. It never occurred to me it could be a hoax. This world was just... waiting for me to discover it.”

“What about you?” Gertrude asked, nodding to Dean. “How was your time without a wand?”

Dean’s thumb grazed his hand, self-soothing. “Mostly? Ah... Huh. I’m gonna miss the car.” He gave a sad smile, twisting his hands together. “I felt at home on the road. Maybe it would be short-lived. Infatuation. Like a love affair with the Muggle world. Like Charlie said, we don’t belong on this side any more. I don’t.”

“You can always come back,” Gertrude said. “Any time, my door’s open.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, nodding gratefully. But then he shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. There was so much and so little he wanted to express aloud. Did he want a house, a home? A place with a kitchen and a garden, a tank of fish? Or did he want the road, a set of wheels turning beneath him? Or did he want to rule a castle he already owned, sharing his knowledge with hundreds of young minds, a place full of magic and wonder and love?

He wanted all three.

With a small smile, Dean leaned back on the couch, kicking a boot up onto his thigh. “Tomorrow’s our passage back. I say we make one last stop before we head back to wizard country.” He shot a smirk in Sam’s direction.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Where do you want to go?”

  
**☆**  
  


Sea waves washed up onto the sand, soaking it dark before receding like an old man’s hairline in fast-forward: grey, white, then absent completely. Though it was winter and the sky was a tumbling stone, lit from within by flashes of an electric storm, the sea was always beautiful. The sun shone from behind, and Dean felt its warmth on his shoulders.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Dean said, carrying a beach towel under his arm, speaking to Charlie on his right. “We look ahead and there’s a sky going mad, but turn your head and you’re blinded by the sun.”

“There’s crazy things happening by themselves all over the world,” Charlie said, spreading out her towel. A black wooden pier struck out long from the beach fifty feet to their left, and children raced back and forth along it, screeching. Charlie watched the kids, then sat down on the towel. “It’s not just the wizards and the witches who get to enjoy everyday magic.”

Dean sat beside Charlie, and when Sam came up behind them, Dean waved a beer at his knee. Sam took the bottle, and sighed as he sat down. He wore a flowered shirt and a pair of black sunglasses, and his hair was too long.

“Man, I am telling you, give me five minutes with some clippers—”

“My hair’s fine, Dean,” Sam said. He rounded his shoulders, knocking Dean’s prying hand away.

Dean grunted, folding his arms.

Castiel finally caught up with them. Moosh perched on one shoulder, and Baby Batman rode on the other. Castiel talked to them sweetly, carting the animals past Sam, Dean, and Charlie, heading for the shoreline. He carried a red plastic bucket and a yellow spade.

“Where’s he goin’?” Dean asked, amused.

They watched together as Castiel reached the shore and began to undress.

Dean lowered his head, immediately flustered, and he tried to look anywhere but at Charlie and Sam. His eyes kept magnetising to Castiel though, and every time Dean looked, he was wearing less. No shirt, no pants. He was down to his boxers when he walked into the sea, water sloshing around his ankles, then his legs.

“He’s gonna get himself drowned,” Dean muttered. “HEY, CAS. BE CAREFUL.”

Sam rubbed at his ear and grumbled, passive-aggressively complaining about Dean’s shout.

Castiel raised an arm and waved to his audience, then carried on wading into the water.

“Water’s gotta be freezing,” Dean said. “What the hell does he think he’s gonna do, swim to China? Oh, look, he’s paddling. He paddles. Moosh, goddamn it, don’t encourage him. Oh, great! Now Baby Batman’s gotten in on the action. He’s gonna get them drowned too.”

“Dean, they’re fine,” Charlie assured him. “He has his wand, he know what he’s doing.”

“ _Does_ he have his wand, though?” Dean asked. “He took all his freaking clothes off! He keeps his wand in his sleeve like a crazy person, so— CAS! CAS, GET YOUR LILY-WHITE ASS BACK HERE.”

“His ass is more like... a lightly-toasted lily,” Charlie said.

Sam hummed an agreement. “Like a stirred-up caramel macchiato.”

Dean huffed.

“Maybe, uh,” Charlie laughed, “a well-cooked pair of buns.”

Sam snorted. “Bet those buns taste like ass.”

Dean groaned and dragged a hand down the side of his face. “Screw you guys,” he groaned, and he stood up, undoing his belt buckle.

“Where are you going, Dean?” Sam asked innocently.

“Aren’t you gonna sit with us, Dean?” Charlie chimed in.

“I’m gonna go fish that son of a bitch out the water, okay?” Dean snapped, shedding his shirt onto Sam’s legs, kicking off his pants. “If I start drowning, don’t wait up.” He stormed off, making a beeline for the water.

  
**☆**  
  


The four of them trudged to the parked car, following the intertwined flight paths of Moosh and Baby Batman. Dean and Castiel bickered quietly. Charlie and Sam smiled to themselves, shooting knowing looks at each other every so often.

“I’m not driving anywhere with you looking like that,” Dean said, following a step behind Castiel, tugging on his rumpled collar to straighten it. “You’re gonna get sand all over the seats.”

“Well, if you hadn’t come to to ‘rescue’ me,” Castiel said, providing some violent air quotes, “I wouldn’t be wearing clothes that are ‘soaked’.”

Dean batted Castiel’s hands down. “You’re doing air quotes wrong.” He chased after Castiel as he stormed off. “Look, I was just worried about you, okay?”

Castiel turned around in a huff, but he blinked acceptingly, relaxing on Dean’s last point. “Okay.”

“Okay!”

“Just don’t complain about the sand!”

Dean sighed. He looked disparagingly at Castiel’s rumpled, untucked shirt, his tatty waistcoat, and his sandy, soggy slacks. Two weeks of hard wear, swapping between two sets of clothes... it hadn’t made for a handsome outcome.

“Fine,” Dean said. He flipped the car keys in his hand. “I’ll clean the car when we return it to the rental place. And then we Apparate back to Phoenix. School starts in a week and I haven’t finished planning my classes.”

“I have,” Sam said.

“Good for you, asshole,” Dean said, stalking around the car.

Charlie smiled at Castiel. Castiel stopped picking at his damp shirtsleeves, and he smiled back. Dean could argue all he liked with his family, but there was no hiding how much they cared for one another.

But it was also obvious... Dean was upset about something else entirely.

  
**☆**  
  



	13. Copy and Paste Car

The Impala shook as it idled. The windows rattled in their frames; the driver’s seat vibrated under Dean. Dean stared directly ahead at the criss-crossed wire gates, locked shut ten feet in front of the car. The corners of the car rental company’s sign were zip-tied to the chain-link fence, and the white rectangle shone painfully bright in the daylight.

“Guess this is it,” Dean said, his voice quiet. His stroked his hand on the black leather of the steering wheel. It fit so perfectly in his hand. “Bye-bye, Baby.”

Sam peered across from the passenger seat, a look of concern on his face. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Uh?” Dean glanced over. “Ah— Yeah. Yeah.” Dean nodded. He licked his lips and lowered his eyes. “I, uh...” He gulped. “Look, just gimmie a minute. Go get the gate open, tell the guy at the desk we’ve arrived.”

Sam glanced back at Charlie and Cas, and they silently exited the car, taking Moosh and Baby Batman with them. Dean popped the trunk and the others collected all their things – which, as it turned out, fit easily once Dean had applied an Extension Charm to the Impala’s hold. He could’ve fit an elephant in there if he wanted to.

He smiled sadly, thinking it might be kinda fun to have an elephant running around in the trunk. ( _Elephant trunk_. Hehe.)

“Good times, huh?” Dean said to the car, stroking her dashboard. He didn’t really need to speak aloud; he felt as though she could sense his feelings, so long as he was in contact with her. She could read his thoughts if he sank back in the driver’s seat, if he patted her dash, if he turned the radio off and allowed the sound of L.A.’s December traffic to flood through the open window.

Dean turned his head and watched his friends carrying their stuff towards the gates of the rental place. Sam buzzed them in, one thumb on the silver box at the side.

The gates opened. Castiel and Charlie pushed the gates wide, but Dean didn’t let the car roll forward. He sat, and he watched as the others left their luggage at the entrance and went to talk to the staff about returning the car.

Dean let his head rest back, and he stared at the textured curve of the roof.

“I can’t do this,” Dean whispered. “I can’t just let you _go_ like this.”

The car made no reply, but Dean knew she was listening.

Dean shut his eyes. “I can’t even offer to buy you. I blew my spending money on gas for this trip. Besides...” Dean reached into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out everything he had converted from Muggle money to wizarding money. “Sixty Galleons, four Sickles and a Knut,” Dean counted. “What is that, fifteen bucks? Twenty? That’s not even worth your mud guards.”

The frequency of the car’s engine kicked up a note or two of its own accord, and Dean felt a strain on his heart.

Dean slowly licked his lips, putting his money back into his pocket, then staring at the blue sky out of the window. He didn’t know where the storm had gone from earlier; perhaps it blew out to sea. And as sunlight beamed down onto the car, twinkling in the corner of Dean’s eye, it also illuminated his thoughts, and led his decision.

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said firmly, patting the car. “This trip brought us together. All of us. You’re family now, Baby. And we don’t leave family behind.”

Dean opened his door and stepped out onto the yellow dust. Multiple tracks from other cars’ treads curled through the dust, broken only by the footprints of Sam, Charlie, and Castiel, and the dragged wheels of their suitcases.

“Here we go,” Dean said. He scanned the area, making sure nobody was watching. He waved his wand, making sure any security cameras would be temporarily short-circuited. He slammed the door of the Impala shut, and he strode out to stand at her nose, a few feet away.

She seemed to be looking at him expectantly. Dean gave her a smile. “Hang tight, Baby,” he uttered. “This might feel weird but it’ll be over in a minute.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his dirty, scruffy shirt, and he took a breath. He aimed his wand at the Impala, and said, clearly, “ _Gemino._ ”

He dragged his wand to point eight feet to the left, and he released the spell. From nothing, there appeared a car. A duplicate. Four wheels on the dust; a second rumbling engine joined the first. _Copy and paste,_ Dean thought in amusement. Gertrude’s casual Computering lessons had left a bit of an impression.

Dean hurried to inspect the new car, checking it over. It was a perfect twin for the original Impala. Same rental sticker in the window, same license plates, same sun-hot metal under his fingers.

“And that, Baby, is why I am eternally grateful that Charms became my best subject,” Dean said, sticking his wand through his belt loops and brushing his hands together, job well done.

“Dean?” came Sam’s distant voice.

Dean turned around, a hasty grin plastered onto his face. “Hey!” he called. “Guess which one’s the real one.”

Sam and the others came up close, dragging their luggage behind them. They stopped at the mid-point between hoods of the cars, looking from one to the other.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “I’m fairly certain this is illegal. If you used a Gemino charm, it’s going to wear off in a few hours. Or less. The larger the object is—”

“The less well it’ll retain magical properties, I know,” Dean said, waving a hand. “We only need it to work for as long as it’ll take to park her in there.” He pointed at the fenced-in expanse of land owned by the car rental company.

“That’s a horrible thing to do,” Charlie said accusingly. “What if those Muggles love this car as much as you do?”

Dean’s excitement wavered. He sucked on his lips, staring at the ground.

“This is the real one,” Castiel said, distracting Dean from his guilt. When Dean looked up, Castiel pointed at the real Impala.

“How can you tell?” Dean asked, worried his fake wasn’t so realistic after all.

“The tire tracks only lead to this one,” Castiel said, nodding at the real car. He then gestured at the fake, and said, “That one has no tracks. Plus, the new one is in a different place. It’s obvious.”

“Sweet catch,” Charlie smiled. “These things are literally the same.”

“That doesn’t make Dean a good person,” Sam said. “Just a good conjurer.”

“Are we driving away with the real one or what?” Dean asked, putting his hand on his Baby’s hood.

Sam sighed. “The Muggles want you to park it in slot 5B,” he said. “And they also mentioned they got some weird pings on the licence you used when you collected the car. But they—” Sam glanced at Castiel, then Charlie, then back to Dean to finish, “They said it like they were warning us. Like they knew you used a fake license.”

“So they’re shady guys, but they’re _nice_ shady guys?” Dean said, one eyebrow quirked. “What are you, guilt-tripping me? Do they deserve to have their car stolen or not?” He held up a hand when all three of his friends began to argue. “I know, I know, I just heard myself. God.” He clutched his head in his hands.

When he looked up, he asked, “Am I a bad person?”

This time, he got no response at all.

Dean looked at the Impala one more time, and knew in his heart that there was no way he’d leave her behind. He looked over at Sam. “Hey... You remember that money I set aside for you?”

“My college fund?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I— I wanna file a claim. Extraction of, say...” his voice wavered, and went quiet, “fifteen thousand U.S. dollars...”

Sam swallowed.

Dean set a hand to his head, breathing out. “You know what, let’s just go. The Muggles can have the real one. I’ll park the fake somewhere nobody’ll ever see it again. It’ll vanish in a couple hours and we can pretend this never happened.”

He turned to get into the twin car. It smelled just like the original. It even had sand from the beach in the grooves of the seat.

Dean reversed the car back, planning to park it off-road. But as he reached the second point of his three-point turn, he slammed on the brakes. Sam stood in front of him, both hands on the hood.

Dean and Sam stared at each other through the fake windscreen.

Slowly, Sam nodded. He offered a tiny smirk. With a boyish shrug and a quirk in his smile, Sam said, “Go make them an offer.”

Dean walked out of the car rental place an hour later with his head held high, the proud new owner of a 1967 Chevy Impala. He’d pay for it fully within the week. But right now, he was going to put pedal to the metal and ride a tailwind from L.A. to Phoenix, Arizona.

Like a black bat, speeding down a highway outta Hell.

  
**☆**  
  



	14. Remedial Class

**{ PART V }  
**

Last period on a Friday was Dean’s free period again this year. He was meant to use it to plan classes for the following week, or to tidy his classroom – something productive, in any case – but more often than not, on Friday afternoons, Dean could be found at the back of Castiel’s Potions classroom, his own cauldron set up at an empty desk.

It didn’t matter if the class covered a cure for boils with the first-years, or a complex Veritaserum potion with the F.R.O.G. students. Dean wanted to give it a try.

The best part was, Castiel thought, Dean didn’t mind if he got it wrong. He’d passed his F.R.O.G. exam with an Exceeds Expectations grade in Advanced Potions, but Castiel half thought he was trying to prove he was Outstanding-grade material. Of course there was no making up the test now, so many years later, but Dean seemed to enjoy the class, regardless.

Today, presently: Castiel instructed his sixth-years to transfer their Calming Draughts into glass vials.

“Now,” he called over the hubbub of chattering students, “be very careful with these vials! Not all of your potions are going to be perfect on the first go, so that’s not something to worry about. Now, Patron Singer— _Do not forget to put your name on your vials_ – Soriah, did you hear me? Good.”

He blinked, looking dazedly across the room. “Where was I? Oh yes! Patron Singer asked me to remind you— _Philipe!_ Philipe, please sit down, this is not Show-And-Tell. You can show Jason your... whatever that is. Show him later. Please. Thank you.”

Rather flustered now, Castiel paced between the desks, looking from cauldron to cauldron, making sure his students weren’t making a terrible mess as they ladled the pearlescent white mixtures into their vials.

Castiel came to Dean’s desk at the end of the row, and he stood for a while, watching Dean scowl at the mixture he’d made, watching it gloop from the vial like it didn’t want to go in.

“You put the asphodel in too soon,” Castiel advised him. “The potion can get cantankerous if it’s not timed correctly.” He touched Dean’s shoulder, soothing him. “You missed the first few minutes of class. I ought to have reminded you when you came in.”

“It’s all right,” Dean sighed, dropping his ladle back into his cauldron, then wiping the drips of potion off his hand with a cleaning rag. “Go finish your sentence.”

“Which sentence?”

“What Patron Singer wanted you to tell everyone,” Dean said, meeting Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel squinted for a bit, shuffling through recent thoughts, trying to remember what he’d been saying. He inhaled, recollection hitting him like a ray of sunlight through the window. He turned around, and he approached all the students putting their vials on his desk, passing by all the others who packed up their bags for the end of the day.

Castiel stepped up onto the dais, shooing away the students who hovered at the desk to compare their mixtures to everyone else’s.

“Class, before you leave,” Castiel said, projecting his voice, “It seems apparent that too many of you have been to visit Patron Singer in the hospital wing with complaints of stress.”

The classroom quietened down a bit, and the students slowed to listen.

“I know your exams are fast approaching,” Castiel said, leaning back on the ledge of his new un-burned desk. “But there is a difference between healthy stress and damaging stress. If you’re obsessing... If you find yourself unable to think about anything but your tests, if you don’t eat because you feel it’ll distract you, or because you _can’t_...” He lowered his eyes and pressed his lips in a line. “Well, I’ve been there. It’s not a good place to be. You must take breaks. You must pace yourself. If all you’re doing is feeding information into your brain with the sole purpose of passing the test, you’re not learning correctly.”

A hand rose, and Castiel nodded to the curious student.

“Isn’t that the point? To pass the test?”

Castiel half-smiled. “Yes and no. The results of your F.R.O.G.s may shape your entire careers, it’s true. But whatever you go on to study after you graduate school, or whatever field of employment you enter, you need to know a whole lot more than what was covered on the test. And for that matter, there’s plenty in the test which would have no real-world use.”

Not for the first time, Castiel was faced with a room full of dismayed-looking students. “Um.” He tapped his fingernails on his desk, thinking of the best way to phrase good advice. “Potions,” he said. “It’s an important subject. But if you’re looking at a career in Astronomy, as I know some of you are... You’re better off focusing your attention on what you know you’re good at.”

Another hand went up. “Does that mean if I’m bad at Arithmancy I should swap it for Ancient Runes? I’ve wanted to do that all year but my dad said that was taking the easy way out.”

“Uhm...” Castiel licked his lips in a rolling motion, ending with his lips tucked between his teeth.

Another hand. “I’m crap at Divination, but I really enjoy the classes—”

“I hate Divination! But Professor Barnes said I have the gift—”

“I have _so much_ to do so I spend all my time procrastinating—”

Castiel watched hands fly up and words scatter across the room, students getting up in arms and wild-eyed about his advice. He took breaths to speak but found himself cut off by another shout, and as soon as his eyes went that way, someone else spoke from another desk, he was practically hyperventilating, and he was starting to think he might need to down a swig of Calming Draught himself when—

“Shut your faces, would you?” shouted Dean from the corner. The room went silent. “Can’t you see the guy can’t make out a single word you’re saying, let alone process it? Jeez. It’s thirty against one. Have some decorum.”

Castiel gazed in Dean’s direction, grateful for the silence. Alas, even in the silence, he wasn’t sure what to say.

Dean figured that out quickly, and he stood up. “Bottom line is, kids, you gotta chill. No, Patrick, there’s nothing wrong with taking a nap in the afternoon if you’re tired. And yeah, if a subject you’re taking is doomed to bring your whole grade down, switch it out before you get too far into the course. And hey, kid— Yeah, you. Tell your old man to shove it where the sun don’t shine – it’s your life, you’re the one suffering under the weight of subjects you’re never going to use. If he wants an Arithmancer in the family, he oughta become one himself. You kids weren’t made to be the people your parents failed to be.”

Dean stood up, scratching thoughtfully at his hairline. Students looked at him with interested wonder, and Castiel supposed he looked at him the same way.

“Listen,” Dean said, although nobody in the room wasn’t already, “I’ve heard a few concerns about over-stressing myself. From kids and from parents. I took the same courses you took, had the same issues. Over the last few years I’ve been considering, I dunno, making like a... a weekend course, for study class. Not some quiet room where you sit with your books out. I mean, an actual class. On how to study. How to do math, and spell words right. Stuff like that. How to learn and not forget things. How to, like... _enjoy_ learning.”

The room was quiet for a while. Dean’s eyes moved around expectantly, hoping for a reaction.

Then, at the front of the class, a girl named Rain raised her hand.

Dean looked her way. With a smile in her voice, Rain said, “Hell yeah. Where do I sign up?”

The class giggled and laughed, and the chatter started up again. It wasn’t anxious and strained any more; Castiel smiled, relieved the tension had gone. He was proud of himself for noticing the tension at all – but somehow he seemed to notice a lot more about his emotional environment when Dean was around. When Dean was near, all Castiel’s sensors went mad.

After a few more minutes, the crowd around Dean dwindled, and the classroom emptied. Dean was left re-reading a parchment with a list of students who were interested. He smiled when Castiel approached. “I’m gonna need a bigger classroom.”

Castiel said nothing, just touched Dean’s back.

Dean folded up the parchment, and he stood, waving his wand to empty out the cauldron of ruined potion. “I should’ve got this one,” he muttered. “I made the same potion perfectly back in my fourth year.”

“I know,” Castiel said. “You’re out of practice, that’s all. There’s plenty of time for you and I to make it up.” He smiled encouragingly at Dean.

Dean caught on after a moment, and he grinned widely. “Why, Professor, are you suggesting I take a remedial class?”

“Oh! Not at all,” Castiel smiled. “Bobby’s asked me to help him stock up on potions for the hospital wing – a Skele-Gro knock-off, Calming Draughts. Wolfsbane for those unfortunate few students who struggle with... furry little problems. I was hoping you might assist me. We could start right now, if you like.”

“Right now?” Dean leaned forward. “Can I do the Calming Draught again? I was _this close_...”

Castiel nodded, and Dean immediately turned away, gathering up the ingredients he needed for a second Calming Draught. He referred to his textbook, as he should, and he laid out everything he needed.

“Good,” Castiel said, pulling up a stool and sitting beside Dean. “Show me how you’d begin.”

“Uhhh.” Dean checked the book. “Asphodel...”

“Wrong.”

Dean frowned at Castiel. “Lavender?”

“Also wrong.”

Dean slowly took his seat, eyes on Castiel.

Castiel smiled. “I’m sorry, that was sort of a trick question. First thing to do is listen to the teacher.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“If you don’t, you may miss valuable information,” Castiel warned him. “As you did this class, when you walked in late.”

“I had another class to teach! We did Banishing Charms— I had to Apparate to Tucson to get my desk back!”

Castiel laughed at the mental image. Watching Castiel chuckle, Dean soon stopped looking so offended, and he began to smile, seeing the funny side.

“The second thing to do,” Castiel went on, still smiling, “is to read the instructions all the way through. Twice if you have time. Commit the general order of it to memory.”

“Memory, got it,” Dean nodded.

“Third,” Castiel said, raising a finger, “is to clean your cauldron out.”

“I just did that, you saw me.”

“Yes, but that was _after_ a potion, not before another one. Even a fleck of dust can disrupt the constitution of thousands of otherwise simple potions.”

Dean heaved a sigh, mouth closed.

“Don’t worry,” Castiel said, patting Dean’s wrist. “I know you got good marks in your F.R.O.G. for Potions. It’ll become second nature again.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I was always better with the more dramatic potions. Bright colours and gushing smoke, y’know? As much as I hoped I’d lose the urge for it, I’m still begging for explosions and a hands-on experience. Desperate for excitement. It’s like I wanna skip the foreplay and just get to the good part, no prep.”

Castiel smiled again, but when he lowered his eyes, it was because a twirl of something unexpected swept through him upon hearing Dean’s words. Now he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Cas?” Dean prompted.

Castiel licked his lips, blinking his way back to meeting Dean’s eyes. But meeting his eyes was too thrilling, so Castiel looked down again.

“What’s up with you?” Dean asked, teasing.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel said. He pulled his hand off Dean’s wrist and held the back of his own hand instead. “You should begin your potion.”

“Uh.” Dean huffed a laugh. “Okay, Cas? Quick body language tip. When someone says ‘it’s nothing’, then moves straight to an ‘it’s something’ kinda position, that doesn’t make me wanna look away and make a potion. What’s up?”

Castiel tried to look at him, but ended up staring at the open neck of his shirt, where his clavicle showed. “Um. Do you remember... a couple of weeks ago, after we got back from winter break? I told you I made potions with my fourth-years. They made their own, and I made a correct one on my own desk.”

“Yeah, it was like, anti-sex potion or something.”

“Libido-dampener,” Castiel corrected, nodding. “Teenagers often have a lot of trouble with that sort of thing, and I supposed the dampener would help them focus on their school work.”

“Yeah. Okay. What’s your point?”

“I— Well...” Castiel felt himself heating up, and he ran a cool hand against the back of his neck, eyes on Dean’s hands. Dean fiddled with a lavender stem. The stroke of his thumb, back and forth, back of forth... To Castiel in his present state, it seemed obscene.

With a huff, Castiel covered his eyes. “I’ve been taking it. That potion. I’ve never been comfortable with sexual feelings, they feel – _confusing_ to me. I just thought— Recently it’s been too much...”

Dean stopped touching the lavender. He held it still, his thumb pressed to it. Castiel stared through barely-open eyes.

“Let me get this straight,” Dean said, in a secretive tone, head down. “You quit jacking off?”

“I barely started,” Castiel explained. He managed to meet Dean’s eyes, and a beautiful amorous feeling flooded him at once. “I tried a few times and I didn’t want to try again.”

“Didn’t you like it?”

“No, I did,” Castiel said, combing his fingers through his hair as he looked away. “Perhaps too much.”

Dean had a pink flush on his cheeks when Castiel looked back.

“So you’ve been taking this potion,” Dean said, waiting for more information.

“It has to be drunk every day at noon, with food,” Castiel said. “Its effects last a day or so, but it can _only_ be taken at noon. Not by the clock; by the sun.”

“Let me guess,” Dean said. “At lunch today you got caught up grading your students’ potions.”

“Tidying the supply cupboard, actually, but yes.”

Dean snickered. Castiel examined his face, enjoying the blush on his face and the playful glint in his eye.

“Damn,” Dean said slowly, examining the same expression on Castiel. “You’re kinda horny right now, aren’t you?”

Castiel swallowed. “I—” His breath got caught in his throat. He squirmed in his chair, licking his lips as he felt the fat push of his half-hard penis trapped against his upper thigh. “Whenever I forget to take my potion, it’s like all the feelings I repressed just,” he waved towards himself, “rush back. All I’ve done is put them off.”

“You wanna go jerk off?” Dean asked, tilting his head.

Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean’s, then his mouth, then down. Castiel tipped his hips on his stool, wanting contact. “A- Are you offering?”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. He was too stunned to speak.

“Talking about this is making it worse,” Castiel whispered, gripping the classroom desk. “We ought to discuss the potion. Asphodel, lavender! What else?”

“You know what else is great for stress relief? Other than Calming Draught, I mean,” Dean added.

Castiel was busy with the textbook’s instructions, so he didn’t quite realise what he was inviting when he said, “Hm? What?”

“Touching yourself,” Dean said.

Castiel looked up sharply. “Wh...?”

“Put your hand between your legs,” Dean said, eyes on Castiel’s lips. “Just do it here. I won’t tell.”

“Dean! I can’t just—”

“Shh-shh,” Dean warned, turning around to check the open door of the classroom. Face flushed, eyes shining, he looked back to Castiel. “Keep your voice down.”

Castiel stared at him, appalled. “I’m not going to masturbate in my own classroom, Dean,” he said under his breath. “And certainly not while I have a potion to watch you make.”

Dean bit his lip. “Bet you’d watch me make somethin’ else that looks a lot like Calming Draught,” he said, too sultry for Castiel to handle. “White liquid, kinda gloopy...”

“Dean,” Castiel said, smiling at the desk. “This is not appropriate.”

“I’m hard,” Dean said. He looked Castiel in the eye. His lips were plump, his eyes dark. “I have a massive fuckin’ boner right now and I couldn’t make a potion even if you paid me.”

“Wh... Why are you—”

“Why am I turned on?” Dean nearly laughed. “Dude, you’re squirming like you’re an accidental touch away from coming in your pants.”

Castiel shifted in his seat again. “You’re not wrong.”

“What is that, two full weeks worth of pent-up boners?” Dean asked. “If you’re anything like me, that’s about twenty orgasms just waiting to happen.”

Castiel gasped, pressing himself against the base of the desk. “I was fine all day! I was clear-headed and _functional_ until you started— _God_ , Dean, _why_?”

“Bet I could talk you to orgasm right now,” Dean mused. “Get you gasping. Get you so into it you’re moaning loud. Have you come in your pants, right where you’re sitting.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel scolded. “I am _not_ going to let you do that to me. Not here.”

Dean was about to speak, but he seemed to pick up on something in Castiel’s words. “So that’s not a no?”

“What?”

“You’d let me get you off, just not _here_?”

Castiel gazed at him, emotions flipping between trepidation and full-blown arousal. “What do you have in mind?”

Dean smiled wide for a moment, then looked away bashfully. “Uh. Wow.” He ran a hand over his mouth, no doubt feeling the swell of his pink lips. He licked them as his hand fell. “Alright. I think I got something. We gotta get outta the castle.”

“And go where?” Castiel asked.

“I’ll show you.”

Castiel couldn’t believe Dean was even encouraging this – nay, _suggesting_ this – nor could Castiel believe that he himself was so willing to try it. Dean was the reason he’d taken his libido-dampening potion in the first place, wanting to quell the urge to moan out Dean’s name. But now there was no doubt: Dean wanted the name Castiel moaned to be his own.

Dean slowly and carefully slipped off his stool, and Castiel’s eyes drew down. Dean hadn’t been kidding – a massive, thick bulge had appeared along the base of Dean’s belt, trapped there with no way to escape. To Castiel it looked like a sausage too big for anyone to eat. He blushed at the thought, now cursed to think about putting it in his mouth. Sucking through the fabric, making it wet.

Dean put a self-conscious hand on his erection. “I skipped my morning whack when I woke up today,” he explained. “Thought I’d save it for the evening. There’s a new _Dragon Den_ book out...”

Castiel looked up at last, not sure what Dean was talking about.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said, blushing. “It... It’s kind of a niche series.”

“Where are we going to go?” Castiel asked, turning around on his stool, slipping a hand into his pocket to adjust his slacks as he stood up.

Dean lost his voice for a while, staring slack-mouthed at Castiel’s erection. His lips shone wet as he licked them.

“Hmm,” he sighed, finally looking up. “What? Oh...” He turned away. “Follow me. Maybe bring a book or something,” he added, grabbing his waistcoat from a chair at the back of the classroom. “Something to hide... y’know.”

They walked as naturally as they could through the hallways, Dean holding his waistcoat over one bent arm, Castiel carrying the rag Dean had used to wipe Calming Draught from his hand. He scrunched it and flipped it, pretending he was folding it whenever they passed a student in the hall. Thankfully the hallways were near-deserted: after school, most students would flock to their common room for a break, or to the Great Hall for snacks.

Relief came to Castiel (well, a bit) as they reached the entrance hall to the school. Dean pried open the trap door, and Castiel stepped out first.

The quarry’s base was not deserted: a handful of Quidditch players were apparently taking their practice now. Charlie was nowhere to be seen, however.

“This way,” Dean said, leading Castiel straight to the edge of the quarry. At intervals around the quarry, the walls were carved out with stairs. These were for quick getaways for the students if they ever had to leave on foot.

Dean led Castiel up the staircase, their shoes crunching and scraping on the red dirt. Late afternoon sunlight seared upon Castiel’s forehead, blanking out his view whenever he tried to look up at Dean. Dean’s ascending silhouette formed in purple whenever he stepped in front of the sun, but otherwise he was nothing but a moving shape, covered up by salient golden rays.

They got halfway up and Castiel had to reach for Dean’s hand, needing help to climb. The stairs were steep and they were already too many feet up. Castiel wasn’t afraid of heights but he knew Dean was; Dean must’ve been terrified to check on their progress, and Castiel didn’t want to hinder him.

  
**☆**  
  



	15. Sunsex

“If we start planting them now,” said Joshua D’Angel, in that soft, gentle voice of his, “they’ll be ready for the Valentine’s Day celebrations. With a magical growth aid, they’ll grow fast.” He turned the pot on Principal Moseley’s desk, showing off the new, sparkling plant with its red and pink heart-shaped flowers.

“Beautiful,” Principal Moseley said. “Just gorgeous.” Her dark brown hand reflected orange as it moved into the sun, joining the Herbology professor’s hand on the pot. The dirt on Joshua’s hands and under his fingernails only made him more enchanting. “Do you have a name for them?”

“Not yet,” Joshua replied. “I’ve thought about it a lot, but so far I’ve come up with nothing.”

“ _Hm,_ ” said Charlie Bradbury. When Missouri glanced over, Charlie gave a nervous smile.

“Something to say?” Missouri asked, eyebrows up.

“No...” Charlie said, smiling again. “Well, okay, maybe. I was just wondering why we’re doing a Valentine’s Day celebration in the first place. Why not save that part of the budget for Halloween? That’s way... witchier.”

“Jinxes is a diverse place,” Missouri said. “Witches and Muggle-borns coexisting.” She showed Charlie her two open hands, then locked her fingers together, demonstrating closeness. “If we celebrate a witchy holiday but not the Muggle ones, that doesn’t sound too fair to me.”

Charlie clearly had no argument for that.

“You don’t seem too keen, child,” Joshua said, bowing his head and gazing at Charlie. “What is it about this ball that bothers you?”

Charlie shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno. Maybe just...” She leaned forward. “Look, the kids get to date. They find boyfriends and girlfriends all over, whenever. We don’t tamp down on that, because that’s like, some kind of personal violation. Right?”

Joshua and Missouri locked eyes, as if sharing the same thoughts: why was Charlie bringing this up?

“My question is, why is there a rule against the teachers dating? Having relationships? Who’s to draw the line between friendship and _relation_ ship anyway? Love, sex, friends-with-benefits? A three-way? A quickie in the teacher’s bathroom? Seems to me that ought to be between the teachers themselves, nobody else.”

Missouri began to frown. “What you’re describing sounds like a hell of a party life, but that sort of thing has no place in a school.”

“Not even in private, between consenting adults?” Charlie leaned forward in her armchair, her face moving into the sun. The shadow of a lightning bolt in the window momentarily crossed her forehead.

“Say a teacher lived here practically his whole life,” Charlie began. “He meets someone _you_ hired as a teacher. After years, he falls in love, and he knows the witch he’s in love with loves him back. But they don’t say it. They don’t kiss. They just go on living their lives, teaching their classes, aching and pining and _hurting_ , wishing away the love, taking potions they shouldn’t take, wanting to get rid of feelings that won’t go. A Valentine’s dance comes up on the schedule, but it’s not for them. It’s for the kids they teach. The kids are allowed to love whoever, even though most of them are so young, they don’t even know what they’re doing. These teachers have gotta stand by and watch, not allowed to do what they so desperately want to do. Not even behind closed doors. Don’t you see how that would hurt?”

Missouri stared at Charlie. “I do see,” she said, more harshly than she’d meant. Charlie’s words resonated too deeply, but there was only one reply Missouri could give. “I’m sorry, Charlie, but this is about the children. It’s always about the children. Two teachers dance at a ball, and nasty rumours light the school on fire. Or, say... One teacher tells her class she’s gay.” Missouri nodded, seeing Charlie’s jarred movement. “Word gets around. Gossip ain’t good for anyone. Not kids, not teachers.”

“It’s not about gossip, it’s about happiness! Personal satisfaction!”

“Girl, it ain’t about anything,” Missouri snapped. “It’s a dance for the kids. That’s all it’ll be.”

“But—!”

“Young lady,” Joshua said, in barely a whisper, but his voice cut over Charlie’s heartfelt cry. “The Principal has made her decision. Do you really want to be the one to contend that?”

“Yes!” Charlie shouted, standing up. “There are people working at this school who are _in love_. Do you even know what that means?!”

Missouri’s eyes naturally went to Joshua, but she set her jaw firmly and looked away. She got up from behind her desk and she turned to the big window, hands clasped behind her back. Afternoon light streamed into her eyes, so she looked down, across the quarry. “I do know,” she answered at last. “And I know why you ask. You have your friends’ best interests at heart. And trust me, so do I.” She looked back over her shoulder, but Charlie had averted her eyes, so Missouri turned back to the window. “Whoever he is, I don’t want your friend hurt. Children can be tricksters. Turn a love against you, whether they mean to or not.”

“The rumors about me and Professor Moondoor are completely unfounded,” Charlie said. “There’s nothing going on between us. And she certainly didn’t do _that_ to me. She’s a wonderful woman.”

“Oh, I know,” Missouri said. “And that is precisely why my rule stands. No relationships, no personal information shared with the students; no problems.”

Charlie scoffed.

Missouri would’ve turned around and glared at her, but something outside caught her eye. A cloud of desert dust was rising from the flat plane at the top of the quarry. “What’s that, now?” Missouri asked quietly.

She drew her wand and tapped it on the glass window, and the window shifted in place, showing a view from above the quarry.

“That’s Dean’s car,” Charlie said, surprised.

“What’s he doing driving off at this time of the day?” Missouri asked. She tapped the window a second time, and the window zoomed in on the back of the car. Two silhouettes were visible through the dust cloud. The man in the driver’s seat was obviously Dean, but the man next to him... Was that Castiel?

“Don’t follow them to watch,” Charlie said. “Please. Just let them go.”

Missouri turned around to peer at the younger woman. Charlie’s red hair appeared aflame in the sunlight; a pleading look made up her expression. The insistence of earlier was gone. Now Charlie only said the words like it was the only thing she could accept. No argument.

Missouri asked, “Where are they going?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “And I shouldn’t know. Neither should you.”

Missouri considered her for a while. Then she looked at Joshua, who shrugged.

Missouri tapped the window with her wand and it returned to its usual view of the quarry. Taking her seat again, Missouri folded her hands together and looked sternly at Charlie.

Slowly, Charlie sat down in her armchair. “Thank you,” she said.

  
**☆**  
  


Dean drove about two miles out, then swung the car through a gully of red sand, casting a wave across a bushy part of the scrubland. The wheels halted there.

The shadow of the Impala curved around a tall green saguaro cactus to the car’s right. Dean reached for the keys to cut the engine, and it quieted. The hood ticked as it settled.

Dean stared out at the desert stretching on, and on, and on. It went on into blue shadows, where mountains emerged, faded through airborne dust. Sunset was approaching; the sky was purple on the right, bright orange opposite. The heat of the sun warmed the left side of Dean’s face, making his eyelashes golden.

Licking his lips, Dean glanced to his right. Castiel sat quietly, one hand curved over his inner thigh. He wasn’t hard any more, but his hand was placed as though he was ready to be, any second now.

Dean’s hand dropped away from the car keys, leaving the chain swinging, metal pieces clinking together. Dean gripped his own thigh, thumb rubbing at the seam of his suit pants.

“Are we really doing this?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked up, and they gazed at each other in the sun. “That depends,” Castiel said. “What is it you’d like to do?”

Dean’s lips parted, and he smiled gently. “Uh.” He thought for a while, trying to form words from the images in his mind: naked skin, bold and curious touches, the shape of Castiel’s mouth as he moaned in pleasure.

When Dean swallowed and was ready to speak, he tipped his head to the side and opened the car door.

Castiel followed him out, opening the other door, closing it behind him. They met at the nose of the car; Dean sat on the burning-hot hood, his boots flat to the dust. He watched a lizard scurry away, and then his eyes drew to Castiel, leaning on the car beside him.

“There’s these books I like to read,” Dean started. “The series is called _Dragon Den_. They’re kind of— Ahh, I’ll just say it. They’re filthy. They’re totally about sex and sexual exploration: girls, boys, whatever. The main character, he’s an immortal god called Eros. His mom’s Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty. She’s fairly conservative, considering her upbringing. But Eros, he’s...” Dean grinned, staring at the dust on his boots. Then he licked his lips, eyes darting to Castiel.

“Um,” Dean said. “Eros is into guys and girls. Both.”

“He’s bisexual,” Castiel stated.

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Dean tried to hold Castiel’s eye, but instead ended up looking at the ground again. “That’s me too. I, uh... I’m that. I’m... bisexual.”

“I know,” Castiel said.

Dean looked up.

Castiel smiled. “Did you expect me to be surprised?”

“No...” Dean shrugged, putting his hands into the pockets of his pants, shuffling his feet. “I just thought I oughta be plain about it. I know you’re... not like that.”

“I’m demisexual,” Castiel said, although Dean already knew. “Demiromantic, as well. So far it’s only ever been you. I’m beginning to suspect it might only _ever_ be you.”

Dean bit his lip, curling fists in his pockets.

“Does that bother you?” Castiel asked.

“No, no,” Dean said hastily. “I just—” He shrugged. “Didn’t expect you to say it to my face, is all.”

“I thought we were being open with each other.”

“We are.” Dean nodded. “We are. I’m just nervous, I guess,” he chuckled.

“Do you want to touch?” Castiel asked. He moved closer, so his shoulder pressed to Dean’s.

Dean let out a tumbling breath. “I’m not sure. I can’t believe I’m saying this... but I don’t know if I wanna just – jump right into it.”

“Is this because teachers at Jinxes aren’t allowed relationships?”

Dean shook his head. “Nh-nn.” He put his hand over his nose and mouth and breathed out.

They were quiet for a while, their shoulders pushing together. After half a minute, their breaths synchronised.

“I think,” Dean said, “I wanna do what we came out here to do. Just touch ourselves.”

“Watch each other?”

Dean grinned, blushing. “Yeah, okay.”

Castiel started undoing his belt. Dean felt a flutter inside him, and for a while he couldn’t look at anything except Castiel’s hands, his fingers on his belt, the zipper of his pants, the black underwear he wore underneath.

“Do you still think it’s weird?” Dean asked, watching Castiel rub himself through his underwear. “Does touching yourself still make you feel uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Part of me doesn’t even want to watch myself, let alone allow you to watch.”

“If you’re not into it—”

“I want to do this,” Castiel said. He turned his face and looked Dean in the eye, determined – hungry. “I want you to do this _with_ me. Make me feel comfortable with doing this. I know you can, Dean.”

Dean got lost in his eyes, mesmerised by the sunlight filtering through the blue. Select strands of Castiel’s dark hair glowed blonde; the ridges in his fine lips were accentuated; his cheekbones looked sharper than ever before.

“Take your pants off, Dean,” Castiel said, his voice low enough that it sent vibrations through Dean’s bloodstream.

Dean reached for himself, fingers stumbling on his belt. He undid it in stages, and the buckle clanked against his thigh as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. His heart thudded, thoughts rushing in and out of focus like a hurried tide. _Can’t believe you’re doing this— Is he watching? He’s watching— You’re half-hard just from his smell— You’re going to sweat through your shirt—_

Dean unbuttoned his white shirt, still with shaking fingers. He let out panting breaths, eyes drawn to the sky, where the first stars were already coming out. Winter in Arizona was not cold except at night; the temperature would drop soon, and Dean was glad, for his skin was searing, sweat prickling in the dip of his back.

Dean settled his ass against the hood of the car again, legs apart. His slacks were sagging around mid-thigh, his shirt open and dragging on the car behind him. He cupped his erection, squeezing through his underwear.

“You like to wear lace?” Castiel said, looking curiously at Dean’s underwear.

Dean rubbed himself through the maroon fabric, nodding. “Uh-huh. Some days.”

“Mine are boring,” Castiel chuckled, sliding his hand underneath the fabric.

Dean let out a tiny sigh of pleasure, not because of his own touch, but the sight of Castiel’s hand moving below his underwear. Castiel watched Dean’s face. Dean felt himself being watched and he smiled, but he didn’t look up.

Slowly, as if putting on a show, Castiel pulled his erection out of his boxers.

Dean slumped down, grasping his cock through his lace panties, already wet at the tip. “Oh,” he said. “I— I’ve never looked at... _Fuck_ , Cas.” Dean’s eyes travelled up, from Castiel’s thick, meaty cock to his pubic hair, to his half-unbuttoned shirt. Up and up to his face.

Castiel smiled, eyes on Dean’s lips, then up to meet his gaze. “May I see yours?”

Dean looked at himself, blinking hard. He was so hot he could barely see, but his vision cleared enough that he saw his hand pull out his cock, stroking it. A wet dribble emerged from the slit as he tugged up, and Dean swept the liquid under his fingers, using it to tug his foreskin down, wrinkling the skin back and forth a few times.

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel said, sounding surprised.

Dean laughed, gazing at him. “Beautiful?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I didn’t expect to find it beautiful, I thought it would be... I don’t know, arousing. Or normal, not provoking any feeling. Or maybe I’d see it as something I’d have to put up with for the sake of pleasuring you. But—”

“But you think it’s _beautiful_...?”

Castiel shrugged, smirking unapologetically. “Don’t you find it beautiful?”

Dean frowned at his erection, still playing with it. He wasn’t paying much attention, he realised; he was too self-conscious. “No,” Dean said. “It’s just a thing. Like my arm. It’s just there.”

“But it feels good to touch.”

“Yeah, but like – through someone else’s eyes.” Dean licked his lips, pushing closer against Castiel’s shoulder for comfort. “Like thinking about being Eros, fucking some... some wizard, maybe his friend. Or maybe I’d be a girl and—” He scowled, looking away. “I imagine it’s someone else’s.”

He thought about his statement some more, then offered Castiel a smile. “Not all the time, though,” Dean admitted. “I’d miss it if it wasn’t there, you know?”

Castiel probably didn’t know, but he nodded anyway.

“I think yours is nice,” Dean said quietly. “Suits you.”

“Suits me? How?”

Dean grinned, shaking his head. “Stocky. Not drippy, just... firm. And the way you touch – it’s like how you do everything. It’s just a task to you but you’re passionate about it in the meantime. Here—” Dean nudged Castiel’s moving arm with his free hand. “Do it like this.”

Dean demonstrated a slower stroke on himself, dragging tight up to his cockhead, rounding the palm of his hand over the slit, then back down, all the way to the base.

Castiel copied on the second stroke, and Dean felt a tingle descend from his chest to his toes. “Yeah,” Dean breathed. “Like that.”

“I’m not usually so slow on my own,” Castiel said, tilting his head to watch himself. “I do it in bursts. All at once.”

“I drag it out,” Dean smiled. “Usually I’m reading while I do it. Or thinking...”

“Do you think about me?” Castiel asked.

Dean felt his heart squeeze up tight. If Castiel was going to be this forthright about it, Dean could only respond in kind. “I try not to,” Dean answered. He lowered his eyes. “But I nearly always do.”

Castiel nodded, accepting that.

“You?” Dean asked, blushing.

“Always you,” Castiel said. “Unless I think about you I can’t finish.”

Dean breathed deeper, shaking. He felt a thrum go through him like a slow-motion earthquake, and he watched a drip of pre-come ease from him, stretching in a shining string before it broke and landed in the sand below.

“Tell me more about Eros,” Castiel said, rocking his side against Dean, bumping his chin against Dean’s shoulder. “Or Eros’ lovers. Whoever you feel like being today.”

Dean gasped, head falling back. “Oh... Ah— Ah...” He panted, needing to catching his breath and steady his feet, left hand against the hood of his car, right elbow bumping Castiel’s arm. “Th- There’s this thing Eros does,” Dean breathed. “With his guy friend. He’ll wet his fingers... and he’ll go underneath,” Dean demonstrated with his free hand, sliding it under his scrotum, into the clothy warmth of his rumpled underwear. “And he’ll push inside...”

“Push inside where?” Castiel asked, frowning.

“His ass,” Dean answered.

Castiel stopped tugging on himself. “Are you sure?”

Dean stared, then he snorted. “Of course I’m sure.”

“But that’s...?”

Dean smiled at Castiel, adoring that baffled face he made. “It’s not gross. Trust me, he makes it hot. Eros’ fingers slip right in, and he pushes and twists his hand, and he’ll kiss his friend ‘til he comes...” Dean shivered. “I tried it. Did it on myself.”

Castiel was still staring, not touching. “Was it good?”

Dean nodded, cheeks burning hot. “You need way more lubricant than you think. But yeah. _Hell_ yeah. Better than good. Was amazing.”

Castiel processed that, and soon began to touch himself again. Dean watched. Now that Castiel seemed far more at ease doing this, Dean relaxed. He wriggled back on the hood of the car, making the frame clank and bounce. He got comfy, and he lay down, his lower back pressed to the searing-hot, sleek metal. His eyes never left Castiel, and Castiel turned at the waist to watch him.

When Dean was settled, Castiel climbed up too, his heels on the front bumper of the car, his left hip pressed flush to Dean’s. Their right hands moved in sync, sunset shadows crossing Castiel’s abdomen as Dean jacked himself just a bit closer to orgasm.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean breathed, turning his face so he could gaze at Castiel. Castiel turned so he could gaze back.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel asked, his eyes innocent and seductive at once.

With flashes of arousal crashing through him, Dean managed to say, “Tell me what to do?”

Castiel blinked twice. “What would you like to do?”

“No—” Dean licked his lips, and he moved his face closer, his right temple pressed to the car. He nosed Castiel’s cheek, and with his eyes closed, Dean whispered, “Tell me how to touch myself. And I’ll do it like you say.”

Castiel made a hummy, squeaky noise, and Dean blushed, realising they both rushed with excitement at the same time. Perhaps it was their proximity, or the smell of their pre-come hanging in the air, or their breath on each other’s faces or maybe even Dean’s words themselves, but Dean was _aching_ , his thighs tense, wanting Cas to make him come.

“Hold it – hold your erection,” Castiel said. He blinked quickly, trying to think beyond his own pleasure. “Push into your hand— Pretend it’s me.”

He stared at Dean, but Dean had to shut his eyes, overwhelmed by just the thought. He tried what Castiel said, but his hand was too weak and his hips wouldn’t keep up a rhythm. But he tried. He felt fluid coating his fingers and he felt the sun heating it on one side, drying it on on his pubic hair. He thought of Castiel’s hand in place of his own, and he arched his back, a quiet “ _Auhh_ ,” escaping his throat.

A sweat broke out on his forehead, his mouth dry, his hands sweating, his toes curling in their boots. He whimpered, feeling Castiel’s nose pushing into his cheek, a kiss following it. Just a soft kiss, just a touch to his jaw.

“Put your other hand between your legs,” Castiel uttered. “Stroke your fingers into the groove there... It’s sensitive, it’s good to touch—”

“I know,” Dean laughed, half-open eyes roaming the Milky Way as it gleamed above in scarlet light. He moaned, fingers sliding along his perineum as Castiel told him to do. “I touch this way a lot,” Dean whispered.

He left out his reasons; he didn’t yet want to tell Cas _why_ he touched like this so often. He didn’t think Castiel would understand right now. All Dean wanted was to come. All he wanted was for Castiel to whisper instructions so Dean could cherish those purring words in his mind, doing as he was told until he reached his peak.

“Cas,” Dean huffed, smiling. “Ah... Hmmmuh...”

Castiel kissed Dean’s neck, and Dean groaned, pulling himself, stroking himself, knees drifting further and further apart; one leg nearly hooked over Castiel’s, one was hovering over nothing, off the side of the car. Dean’s slacks were bunched up around his ankles, heels of his boots on the rim of the Impala’s hood.

“What part of you,” Castiel asked, kissing Dean’s ear, “is the most sensitive?”

Dean gasped and stuttered but he turned his face, mouthing to Castiel’s forehead: “Aside from my dick?” Dean humped, filling his hand. “Nipples.”

“Pull your shirt open,” Castiel said, breath flooding Dean’s ear. “Lick your fingers and touch your nipples.”

“Both hands?”

“One.” Castiel smiled, nibbling Dean’s earlobe. “Keep your other hand moving.”

Dean was glad he didn’t specify which hand; Dean wanted to touch between his legs, not his cock. With his right hand, he pushed the sides of his shirt aside, and he set his fingers in his mouth, moaning as he sucked pre-come off his fingertips. “Mh... _Mmh_...”

Castiel breathed heavily, and a low utterance of “That’s it, Dean,” rumbled against Dean’s throat.

Dean licked his lips clean, and his wet hand dropped to his chest. He stroked his right nipple, pinching its already-hard nub to a point. It stung, it throbbed, and he breathed unsteadily, keeping his left hand stroking the groove between his legs. It didn’t matter that he was so much less sensitive down there than at the tip of his cock; he imagined crinkled skin: his erection was his swollen clit, and the groove behind it led to a slick, red opening, and everything happened in his mind. His fingers slid against his imagined vulva and he keened, pushing into himself. He rubbed at the base of his cock, massaging what he imagined as his clitoris.

Castiel breathed in quiet moans against Dean’s neck, kissing and nuzzling. His words were slurred and dense with lust, muttering a string of encouragements – _that’s right, that’s perfect, Dean – tell me that feels good – I know, I know it does – touch yourself, it’s a good thing to do – yes, Dean, just like that..._

Dean only moaned in reply, dizzy and blind and gasping. “ _Caaas_ ,” he’d manage, before squirming and arching his back, turning his head to gasp against Castiel’s cheek, searching for a kiss he didn’t receive; instead Castiel whispered against him, curses and praises and quiet sounds of delight.

Dean’s fingers worked against his clit faster, wrinkling the loose skin back and forth, riding in the slippery fluid that had drooled down his scrotum. Dean cried out, whimpering Cas’ name, heaving breaths through his swollen lips and sobbing into the chill of the evening, listening to his own voice lost among buzzing insects and the deep howl of the empty desert.

“Come on yourself,” Castiel uttered, his demand electric in Dean’s mind. “All over yourself.”

Dean wasn’t there just yet, but he thought about it. The idea of coming around his own fingers had long sustained his fantasies, and he thought about it now, forgetting for the moment that an orgasm would be wet and hot and messy. He whined, crying out against Castiel’s throat as Castiel lifted his head to watch—

Dean felt the squirt as he sprayed ejaculate over his stomach, his cock thumping his belly, squeezing out the liquid by itself. Dean went on running his fingers between his legs; now his fantasy was shattered and he was male again, but it didn’t matter for the moment: he tingled as brilliantly as the sky above, stars in him, stars around him. He glowed a vivid and happy golden in what remained of the sunset light, and he forgot about himself. He felt the pangs of inner warmth and he felt the rush of Castiel’s breath on his cheek, and he was not a wreck, not inside or out: he was only _Dean_.

“A _uhhh_ ,” he moaned, relaxing his lower back to the groove of the car’s hood. “Oh my _God_... Cas...!”

Castiel laughed, kissing Dean’s throat. “Was that good?”

Dean smirked open-mouthed, nodding blindly. “Uh-huh...”

Castiel exhaled, eyelashes drifting on Dean’s lips. He seemed to be looking down – and Dean gasped in surprise as he felt Castiel’s fingers touch his hipbone, sliding through ejaculate.

“What’re you doin’?” Dean slurred, trying to look at Castiel through half-open eyes.

“I like this,” Castiel said, swirling patterns through Dean’s come. “Especially when it’s warm.”

“Weirdo,” Dean chuckled, smiling widely.

Castiel wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, his eyes magnetising to Dean’s. The blue in Castiel’s eyes was almost completely swallowed up by the darkness of arousal, through his pupils tightened suddenly when one got caught in the sun. Castiel lay partially on top of Dean now, looking down at him.

Slowly, Castiel dropped off the hood of the car, shoes on the dust. He took Dean by the hips and pulled him closer, so Dean’s legs lay open around Castiel’s crotch. Dean had never felt so vulnerable – yet he was not unprotected. Far from it, in fact. He felt safe like this. He smiled, tilting his head playfully at Castiel.

Castiel sucked on his lower lip, one hand massaging his cock slowly, considering Dean’s position before him.

“You jacking off to me?” Dean asked, although it was clear already.

“I’ve fantasised about having you like this too often to pass up the chance,” Castiel smiled. He grunted, thrusting into his grip. He happened to catch on Dean’s inner thigh as he did, and Dean shuddered.

Sensing Dean’s continued arousal, Castiel set his left hand on Dean’s thigh, steadying himself there as his hips tipped and turned between Dean’s parted legs.

Dean let out a satisfied noise, enjoying the sight of Castiel’s cockhead disappearing and reappearing in the circle of his fingers. For all the years of Dean’s imaginings, he’d never seen such a sight in reality.

What was better, though, was glancing up and seeing Castiel peering down with serenity in his eyes. The sight led Dean to think of the white-pine tree that made Castiel’s wand. Always rooted, growing up and out in a myriad of different ways, but never truly changing in character. Castiel was unlike a desert, never pushed by the wind or ripped apart by earthen tides. Unlike a sky, which was always in turmoil and only clear-minded half the year. It seemed an odd time to think it, but Dean wondered if Castiel would’ve been better suited to Jinstem house, represented by a jackrabbit, hunched and content below the image of a cactus. Dean was drawn to rooted beings, and Castiel was not the flighty cardinal represented in Zunbyrd.

Castiel grinned, seeing the distraction flicker through Dean’s eyes. “Is it just me or is your mind elsewhere?”

“Nah,” Dean smiled, reaching up to grip Castiel’s shirt, bringing him down close. “I’m here with you.”

Castiel carried on touching himself, though now he was pressed to Dean’s belly he didn’t have much room. They huffed together, both feeling Dean’s come sliding under Castiel’s knuckles. Dean even heard it squishing. At any other time that might’ve disgusted him, but looking into Castiel’s eyes and feeling it happen, right now, felt incredible. There was a devotion in Castiel’s eyes, in his stroking hand, and it illuminated Dean. This felt intimate in entirely new ways.

Castiel’s breath soon began to hitch, and he’d frown for one moment and smile the next, his eyes dipping to Dean’s lips, then back to his eyes.

“Close?” Dean asked, rocking with Castiel as he started to nudge his hips, wanting more and more as the seconds went on.

Castiel nodded fervently, his forehead shining with a gloss of gold, the very last of the daylight caressing his side. “Dean,” he said. “Ah... Hmm—”

“That’s it,” Dean said, repeating the same words he’d heard Castiel use earlier. “You’re doing good.”

Castiel chuckled, panting on Dean’s chin. “I’m gonna— I— Auh. Dean, I’m gonna come on you.”

He met Dean’s startled eyes, desire having overtaken him.

“Huh.” Dean gradually began to grin, and he bit his lip gently, gazing up at Castiel. “That’s kinda naughty, Cas,” he uttered, fingering Castiel’s collarbone. He loved how Castiel looked right now, his hair a mess, his lips parted, his shoulders shaking as he rocked towards his climax.

“Hmm,” Castiel agreed, eyes falling shut. He breathed hard, grunting at the back of his throat. He gripped Dean’s thigh, rubbing it in soothing motions until his mouth widened and he cried out, “ _Ah_ , yes – Dean— Dean—”

Dean raised his eyebrows, watching in astonishment as Castiel came on his belly, the fluid separated by Castiel’s fingers; it ran down his skin and dripped thickly into Dean’s navel, collecting in fat, shining globules. Dean had never realised come could get that thick – he’d never gone so long without a release.

Castiel hummed a moan, a sound so glorious and gratifying that it reminded Dean of his Impala’s engine as she tore down an empty street. The fantasy engine purred to a halt, however, and soon Castiel sighed in the quiet.

Dean gazed up at Castiel with a luminous feeling inside him. He recognised what they’d just shared and he loved it for what it was.

But Castiel, it seemed, was not yet done. He bent lower, eyes set on Dean’s until he sank so low he had to close them; his nose swept Dean’s chest, little kisses trailing down.

Dean cried out in shock and pleasure as Castiel sucked his left nipple into his mouth, tongue lapping and swirling – teeth nipping just to see what would happen. Dean whimpered and gripped Castiel’s hair, forgetting how slimy his hands were. Castiel’s hair was soft and warm from the sun. Dean relaxed: Castiel let go of his nipple.

One more kiss, and he moved lower.

“What’re you gonna do?” Dean asked, watching Castiel kiss his stomach. His stubble prickled, and it tickled just enough to make Dean’s skin twitch, not enough to make him recoil.

Castiel didn’t reply; he looked up and held Dean’s eye, crouching part-way, hands on Dean’s hips. He set his warm and incredibly plush mouth to Dean’s lower belly, and Dean sighed on a smile, whispering “Oh,” as he figured out Castiel’s intentions.

Castiel licked up what he’d spilled over Dean. He didn’t seem to eat it; he let it slide off his tongue again. He just wanted to taste it. The tip of his nose shone with a white smudge, making Dean laugh – and as he laughed, his abdomen shook, and Castiel’s chin ended up smeared with mess too.

“Gross,” Dean said, though he didn’t think it was gross. His smile faded, and he asked the question he wanted to ask: “What does it taste like?”

“Have you never tried it?” Castiel asked, wiping his nose and chin on Dean’s thigh, kissing him while he was at it.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Yours probably tastes different.”

Castiel moved a hand to Dean’s navel, and he collected up a droplet. It hung from his fingertip like a gleaming white orb; it was not quite opaque, and the sunlight was not quite gone. Castiel raised the droplet to Dean’s lips, and Dean opened his mouth, watching Castiel as he closed his lips around the finger.

Dean sucked, licking Castiel’s fingertip. He hoped Castiel felt some pleasure from his tongue; he toyed with his finger, nibbling it lightly. When Castiel pulled free, only then did Dean roll the tangy flavour around his mouth.

“Hm,” Dean said. He turned his head to the side and spat off the hood of the car. “Tastes... bleh.”

Castiel chuckled, wiping his face on his sleeve. He stroked Dean’s hair back, and he sank down at the hips, pushing himself up against Dean again. Dean snickered at the tickle of fingertips through his pubic hair, but his laugh morphed into a wide smile as Castiel started to play around with Dean’s flaccid penis.

He flopped it one way, then the other way. He put Dean’s penis next to his own and waggled them together, and Castiel looked so amused by it that Dean couldn’t help but laugh.

Castiel grinned at him, and he leaned down so they rested belly to belly.

Their hands held each other close. Dean had one hand on the back of Castiel’s neck, one on his waist. Castiel cradled Dean’s left shoulder from underneath, and the other hand moved to mirror it, but held the back of Dean’s head instead.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Castiel said, gazing deeply into Dean’s eyes.

Dean felt a rush of heat, and it was well-timed: the sun vanished behind distant mountains, and although spaces around them still gleamed with light, the temperature in the shade dropped instantly.

“Why don’t you do it?” Dean asked. “You think I won’t wanna make out? ‘Cause I do.”

“It’s not that,” Castiel said. He looked down and away, gazing long across the purple desert. An elf owl screeched in the middle-distance.

“Then what? Why won’t you kiss me?”

Castiel looked back. Without the direct light, Dean could no longer tell how dark his pupils were. In gloom like this, they could only be fully dilated.

“I don’t want to lose my job,” Castiel said. “Nor do I want to jeopardise yours.”

Dean sank an inch down the car hood. “Is that why it’s taking you ‘n me so long to get on with it?”

Castiel nodded. “Jinxes is home to both of us. If we break the rules here, we have nowhere else to go.”

“I think it’s too late,” Dean said, stroking Castiel’s sweaty hair from his forehead. It was growing cold in the chill of the evening. “It was too late from the moment we decided to drive out here. Seriously, Cas, it was too late from the second we _met_.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said.

“So what’s one more broken rule, anyway?” Dean smiled.

He tilted his head, waiting for Castiel to lean down.

After a fashion, Castiel did. With eyes closed, Dean and Castiel set their lips together and exhaled, relaxing their faces and their bodies and their mouths, sinking in and surging to become one. Dean purred one note, Castiel hummed another. In darkness, for one blissful moment, they both saw colour behind their eyes.

And then they kissed apart, grinning against each other. Castiel chuckled aloud, dragging the tip of his nose along Dean’s.

  
**☆**  
  



	16. The Line, The Witchzard, and the Wardrobe

Someone knocked on Charlie’s door. They didn’t wait for a reply before they knocked again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Charlie muttered, hurrying across her quarters, tying her silk robe around her waist. She opened the door a crack, and a shaft of golden light shot across Castiel’s puppy-dog slippers.

“Cas,” Charlie said in surprise. “You missed dinner, where were you?”

“In the shower.” Castiel looked around hastily, perhaps checking none of the other teachers were nearby. “May I come in? I have something to tell you.”

Brimming with curiosity, Charlie stepped back, and Castiel entered.

Charlie’s room was functional but lavish. The basic setup was minimal with a touch of flair, just how she liked it. The main focus of the room was a four-poster bed, draped in scarlet. In the middle of the room was a teapot on a round table hung with the same fabric. Beside that was an armchair with dented cushions, beside a bookshelf full of both Muggle and wizarding fiction. There was evidence everywhere of indulgence: a half-finished box of chocolates rested beside the tea; nail polishes were still set out on the bed. A dress and accessories hung on the wardrobe ready for tomorrow, and a collection of shoes were stacked beside the books. Castiel had been in here plenty of times, but it was set up slightly different every time he arrived.

Castiel took off his grey bathrobe and lay it on the foot of the bed, sitting on top of it, rolling up the sleeves of his striped pyjamas. He then grasped his forehead with both hands and dragged his grip back, combing his slightly damp hair. He looked frazzled.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Charlie asked, sitting cross-legged on her armchair. She picked up her chocolates and offered Castiel the box.

Castiel took a chocolate without checking what kind it was, which was most unlike him. He ate it, not savouring it at all. “I hab socks wiv Beam,” he said, chewing chocolate in his cheek.

Charlie slowly put the chocolates down. “What?”

Castiel swallowed hard. “ _I had sex with Dean._ ” He blinked twice, eyes drifting. “Well, I suppose it ought to be called making love...”

Charlie laughed suddenly, both hands over his mouth. “Oh my gosh,” she said, squeezing her hands against her cheeks in her excitement. “When did you— _Where_? How?!”

Castiel smirked, scratching languidly at his unshaven facial hair. “As soon as classes finished this afternoon. That libido-dampening potion I was taking, I told you—” Charlie nodded, Castiel nodded and went on, “I forgot to take it today. Dean noticed, he offered... Or did I ask...?” Castiel shook his head; apparently he wasn’t sure any more. “We both needed relief and privacy. So Dean led me out of the school.”

“You drove off in the Impala,” Charlie said. “I was in the staff meeting about the Valentine’s Day dance. Moseley noticed you leaving and she started asking questions.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “Did you tell her?”

Charlie shook her head. “I’m doing my best, trying to get her to open the doors on teachers’ personal relationships. I can’t believe she’s still on about that, given we’ve all seen how she looks at Professor D’Angel.”

“But what did you say about me and Dean?”

“Nothing,” Charlie said. “I turned it around, made it about how she needs to respect the privacy of her teachers. She trusts you and Dean. As she should. You’re not bad people or bad teachers, just—”

“Just rule-breakers,” Castiel sighed.

“So how did it happen with you and Dean?” Charlie said, leaning in. “How was he?”

“He was...” Castiel smiled, gazing at the floor like he was seeing Dean’s face in its fibres. “He was surprisingly submissive,” Castiel frowned, chuckling a little. “He’s a very tender, trusting lover. I honestly expected to be met with more physical dominance, or teasing insults.”

Charlie pretended not to react, taking a chocolate and popping it into her mouth to hide her massive grin.

“Um,” Castiel said. He was blushing a bit. “We did it on the hood of the car. For the most part, we touched ourselves, not each other. But when it was over, I... toyed with him.” Castiel’s shoulders rose, touching his ears. He was terribly bashful, but there was no escaping the luminous look about him.

“And then?”

“We kissed.” Castiel looked up, smiling widely at Charlie. “We kissed until it got so cold I couldn’t feel my toes.” He hugged himself, fingers of one hand rubbing his bicep. “Then we got dressed. Dean was... _giggly_. He kept hugging me and trying to hold my hand, but I was trying to put my clothes on...”

Charlie ate another chocolate, just so she wasn’t left gaping in awe.

“We sat in the car... He climbed into my lap and we kissed. Kissing is so... interesting.” Castiel squinted at nothing. “Tongues... Facial hair, hands – lips? There’s so much happening.” He huffed, donning a quiet, satisfied smile. “Dean called it ‘making out’. And I cuddled him. He likes that. We, um... We did that for another half-hour. At least.” Castiel held the back of his neck, eyes on the floor again. His cheeks were now a handsome pink.

“Then you came back.”

Castiel nodded. “He tried to teach me to drive, for all of two minutes. I nearly drove into a cactus and he took over, muttering that I was going to drive us into the quarry if I kept on like that.”

“Bet you would.”

Castiel nodded. “I probably would.”

“Where is he now?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know,” Castiel shrugged. “I skipped dinner to take a shower, then I came here to see you.”

“Wanna go find him?” Charlie stood up, feeling bouncy.

Castiel shook his head.

“Why?”

Castiel took a breath, holding it for a few second before he sighed. “We... We agreed...”

“Oh _no_. I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

“Tonight ought to be the only time,” Castiel said, without a smile. “We can’t conceal a relationship forever, especially if we’re actually intimate on a regular basis. People notice these things. If one of us lost our jobs, we’d be apart. It’s simpler and safer if we keep our distance for a while. That way we still get to work together, and see each other every day.”

“Cas,” Charlie said, a strain in her voice, “That’s not a good plan! In fact, that sounds like an unnecessarily stressful and emotionally frustrating plan!”

“Then what would you suggest?” Castiel asked, his words somewhat sour.

Charlie tightened her gown. “Come with me,” she said. “As of right now, we have a meeting scheduled with Professor Moseley.”

  
**☆**  
  


Charlie entered Principal Moseley’s study, and Moseley looked up from her desk. She didn’t look pleased. Charlie turned around to close the door behind Castiel, but Castiel had already done it. Charlie’s eyes returned forward just in time to see Moseley’s expression change: all of a sudden, she looked delighted.

“Boy, you had a good night, didn’t you?” Moseley smiled, getting up from her seat. She waved the origami bird Charlie had enchanted to summon her, and she set it onto the desk. “There I was thinking I got called away from my hot bath over something trivial.”

“I’m sorry about the timing,” Charlie said, glancing at the carriage clock on Moseley's desk. It was almost nine o’clock. “This couldn’t wait.”

“Dare say it couldn’t,” Moseley agreed, bending at the waist to pull something from a desk drawer. “I been waitin’ for this day for You-Know-Who knows how long.”

She set a glass bottle of pumpkin juice on her desk beside three glass tumblers, and she began unscrewing the pumpkin-shaped lid of the bottle. “Shall I pour some for either of you two?”

Charlie glanced at Castiel, only to find he was already staring at Professor Moseley in confusion.

“Professor,” Charlie started, stepping forward, “what’s this about?”

“You’re asking me? Girl, you’re the one who came up here with a brain full of bothers.” Moseley pushed a full glass over to Charlie, and Charlie slowly crossed the room to take it. “And you, Professor,” Missouri said, pushing a second glass to Castiel. “I know it’s your favourite.”

Castiel took the glass, staring into its swirling umber depths.

“Well,” Moseley said, lifting her own glass in a toast. “Congratulations to you and Dean.”

Castiel hesitated, but he tapped the rim of his glass against Moseley’s. Charlie was too dumbfounded to move when the same glass was aimed her way, so Moseley mimed the movement, and drank a sip of juice.

“How did you know?” Charlie asked. “I thought I was being careful when I said—”

“Oh, that little story about some unnamed wizard and his witch friend? Please,” Moseley scoffed, licking juice off her lip. “You may as well have called them Casper the Friendly Ghost and Daniel Wesson.”

Charlie huffed, smiling a tiny bit. She sipped her pumpkin juice, surprised by its sweet flavour. This was the good stuff.

“No,” Moseley said, more seriously. “I sense a lot of things nobody else does. I wasn’t Head of the Divination Department for twenty years without damn good reason. I’d still be there if I hadn’t taken up the Principal’s position.”

“So you’ve known,” Castiel said. “About me and Dean...”

“Even before you did, honey,” Moseley smiled. “I sense energies – in people, in things. There’s no escaping the post-coital lovefest that’s burning off of you like a happy flame, my sweet pea. My knowing feeling is rarely wrong.”

There came an awkward silence. At least, Charlie found it awkward. She had to work up the courage to break it, and when she did, her words came out rasping: “If you knew about Dean and Cas, and you’re supportive, why fight to keep the no-relationship rule?” Charlie squeezed Castiel’s arm, then let go, gazing imploringly at the Principal.

With a sigh, Professor Moseley sat down in her chair, gesturing to the two wingback armchairs before the desk. Charlie sat in the brown one, and Castiel perched at the edge of the green one.

“I have to say,” Moseley began, looking at the rings on her hands, “I’ve wanted to change the rule ever since I became a teacher here.”

Charlie looked at Castiel in astonishment, but back to Moseley in a second.

“See,” Moseley went on, “I was a young woman when I was hired here. Only just graduated from college. This was my first real job; I only ever met students before. But then I came here, and _oh_ , the people! The teachers immediately accepted me as family. But there was one man I couldn’t quite bring myself to see as a brother.”

Charlie smiled. “Joshua?”

“Professor D’Angel was gentle and kind then, and he’s gentle and kind now. After I’d lived in the Muggle world... Well, Muggles didn’t treat a black woman too good back then. Still don’t, if I’m honest. For the first few years I thought I was infatuated, led on just by him _not_ being an asshole—”

Charlie laughed, and Moseley smiled at her.

“But he didn’t do what all those other purebloods did,” Moseley said, so wistfully. “He never even mentioned his pureblood status to me, I found out from another teacher. And for years after that, _because_ of that, I thought I weren’t good enough for him...” She shook her head. “Then I became the Principal, and on that day, he congratulated me with a new room in the castle, full of gorgeous, _gorgeous_ vine flowers. Missouri Everloves, he called ‘em.”

Castiel sat up straighter. “They grow in the Fountain Room,” he said. “I thought they came from the state of Missouri. I didn’t realise they were named after you.”

“He’d spent years cultivating a new species,” Moseley said, a sweet smile pulling at her round cheeks. “He said that room was made for love, to grow love, and to make wishes come true. And it was then I knew: I wasn’t the only one who felt what I felt.”

“But why not change the rule then?” Charlie asked, leaning forward. “You had the power.”

“That rule has been around since the school began,” Moseley said. “The Álííl sisters put it in place when two of their protégé teachers were discovered by underage students, fraternising in their quarters— You know the story. The rule had obvious purpose. Why should I change that rule solely for myself? Yes, the faculty was only a handful of people way back then, and yes, the teachers and the students lived in the same part of the building, but it was all different now! Where was the danger in letting me and Joshua be together?”

Charlie got the feeling she knew where this story was headed.

“But then,” Mosely bowed her head, “I caught wind of your coming-out.” She looked up at Charlie. “True or not, those rumours affected how the students see you. While I wish no child carried on the prejudices of their parents, sometimes they do. Whether you noticed or you didn’t, what personal information the students knew about you affected how they learn from you.”

“For the better,” Charlie said. “They know I’m gay, they know they can talk to me about that.”

“But what about the rumours involving Professor Moondoor?” Moseley tutted.

Charlie smiled uncomfortably.

“Once I heard what was going on, what was being said about you all, I decided we gotta stay the way a school ought to be. Teachers are for teaching, not for friendship, and not to fuel gossip. There’s no such thing as too much privacy when it comes to teachers and students.”

Charlie rubbed her forehead, sensing defeat.

“However,” Moseley added, a sly smile in her voice, “there’s clearly no stopping you four. I knew you’d be rebels from the second you were sorted into your houses. I figured I’d keep you in line for the most part – and it worked. More or less. Heck, if a kid needs a friend, you’ll be a pal for them. And if you fall in love with a co-worker within school hours, at least you have the common decency to consummate your love off the grounds.” She looked at Castiel this time, nodding in thanks.

Castiel held his own hand, fingers scrunched into the knees of his pyjamas.

“Let’s just say, I’m reconsidering,” Moseley finished. “After a century or five, a rule’s bound to come across a tad outdated.” She smiled tenderly at Castiel, and offered him another drink of pumpkin juice. “If I ain’t changin’ a rule for my own personal satisfaction, I may well change it to make someone else happy.”

Castiel poured himself some juice with a shaking hand. Moseley said nothing when he spilled some; she cleared the spill with her wand, and screwed the juice cap back on by herself.

“Professor...” Charlie said, “About the Valentine’s Day dance...” She felt as though now was the right time to bring it up.

When Professor Moseley hummed questioningly, Charlie leaned forward and said, “Okay. Say, for whatever reason, the no-relationship rule was still in place, come February fourteenth. The point of the rule is to shield the kids from knowing what the teachers get up to in their private lives, right? So hear me out here. What if... everyone was in disguise. Not just the teachers – the students too. Fancy gowns, sleek suits and ties, the usual ball attire – but paired with masks. Magical or not. You know who your date is, but you don’t recognise anybody else. Everyone in attendance is anonymous.”

“A masquerade,” Castiel said, holding his pumpkin juice before his open mouth, not yet sipping.

“A masquerade,” Charlie nodded. “The teachers could dance together and the students wouldn’t know. Dean and Cas could dance together.”

Castiel sipped his juice and he sat back in his chair, a smug smile on his lips.

Moseley stared into space for a few moments, as if envisioning such a ball, in all its extravagance and all its mystery.

“Aha,” she said eventually, thoughtfully. She smiled over her desk at Charlie, and she lifted her half-full glass of juice to celebrate Charlie’s idea. “Well, then. I suppose one of you had better go tell Dean he has a date set for Valentine’s Day.”

  
**☆**  
  


“I’m not going,” Dean said, snatching off his sleep eyemask and tossing it on the bed. “As soon as I saw the posters, I _thought_ about it, sure. But no. Not for me. Even if teachers _are_ allowed now.”

“But it’s a _masquerade_ ,” Charlie pressed, stepping forward. She’d chased Dean in small steps around his bedroom for a minute now, but Dean kept moving, as if trying to distance himself from the whole idea. “You get to wear a cool mask! Dress up like royalty!”

“I know what it _is_ , you’ve said it five times already,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. He tightened the waist tie of his bathrobe, sitting down heavily at the end of his bed. “Why is this so difficult to grasp? I don’t wanna _go_.”

“But Dean,” Castiel said sadly, standing motionless by the record player. “I want to take you.”

“I know you do, Cas,” Dean snapped. “And I’d go with you, except—” His lips twitched angrily. “Look, never mind why. You’re not talking me into this.”

“ _Why_ is exactly what we _should_ mind,” Charlie said, folding her arms and standing in front of Dean. “Is this about you not being out of the closet with your students yet? Are you freaking out about the rumours?”

“It’s nothing to do with that,” Dean said, and he seemed like he was being honest about it, though he looked totally exasperated. “I’m just not gonna go, it’s as simple as that. Cas, you can take Charlie.”

“But I want to take _you_ ,” Castiel said, his sad eyes drooping, holding himself like a little wounded animal.

Dean swallowed hard. “Look, I’m sorry, buddy, but you’ll have to find someone else.”

A quiet knock sounded on the door to Dean’s quarters, and Charlie turned towards it along with Castiel and Dean.

“Hello?” Charlie called.

“Uhh,” came an unmistakable voice from the other side. “It’s Sam. Are you guys all in there? I could hear your dulcet tones from the common room.”

Charlie looked at Dean, who seemed hugely upset, maybe on the verge of tears. Then she looked at Castiel, who didn’t look much better. With a thought in her mind that Sam might be able to act as a second mediator here, Charlie marched to the door and let him in.

Sam was in his pyjamas, as a teacher ought to be at nine-thirty on a Friday night, but while Castiel wore classic blue-and-white pinstripes, and Dean and Charlie had both covered their nightclothes with their robes, Sam’s pyjamas consisted of an old purple t-shirt with a greyhound on it, paired with track pants.

Charlie closed the door behind Sam, and gave him a smile when he looked at her inquiringly. “We’re having a court session. It’s getting more emotional than anticipated.”

“What’s it about?” Sam asked.

When neither Castiel or Dean spoke, or even looked at Sam, Charlie took it upon herself to respond.

“Long story short,” Charlie said, “Dean and Cas are madly in love, and they have Professor Moseley’s permission to go to the Valentine’s Day masquerade ball as each other’s dates. But Dean says he doesn’t want to go.”

Sam stared blankly at Charlie. Then he blinked a few times and his expression seemed to reset to normal. He frowned. “Since when was the Valentine’s Day celebration a masquerade ball?” he asked.

Charlie smirked. “Since a half-hour ago. My idea.”

Sam licked his lips, a hand rising to drag down his face. He groaned, the remains of a frown clearing away as he let his hand fall. “Alright,” he breathed. He looked down at Dean, who still refused to meet anyone’s eyes. “Dean...”

Dean grunted, scowling at his bare legs, dangling over the tiles.

Sam sighed. “Give us one good reason why you’re choosing _that_ night, of all nights, to be a complete and utter party pooper.”

Charlie saw Castiel squinting, and with a smirk, Charlie explained that the phrase meant Dean was being unsociable. Castiel stopped squinting.

“Because,” Dean said, his voice thick with forceful tension, “I—” His lower lip bulged as he ground his teeth together. “I don’t have anything to wear,” he finished, his words weak, his torso sinking into a pathetic droop. He hung his head, one hand stretched through his hair.

“Don’t have anything to wear,” Sam repeated, disbelieving. “Don’t have anything to _wear_?!”

He turned around in a flash, pulling out Dean’s drawers stuffed with clothes. “Shirts! New shirts, white shirts, green shirts, black shirts, _silk_ shirts— Pants, corduroy, black, grey, pressed, pleated— What do you want, Dean? You want something new? Are all these fashion magazines not enough?” Sam flipped a thumb down the stack of men’s fashion catalogues on top of the chest of drawers.

“What about these, these waistcoats?” Sam thumped out another drawer, grabbing waistcoats and holding them up. “Red, green, gold? Satin? Silk? Is this not good enough? How about these—?”

“Sam, stop,” Charlie said, stressed by the irritation Sam was exuding. She thought he’d be a calming force but he was worse than the others.

“I’m not going to stop, not until _Dean_ is satisfied he has something to _wear_!” Sam snapped, pushing Charlie’s arm off him. “Cravats! Bow ties! Suspenders, belts, clean socks, fifteen pairs of shoes! All these colours, all these fabrics, and not one thing Dean could _possibly_ wear! It’s not like they’re all in _my_ closet, because he never lets me borrow anything! And it’s not like _I_ would have trouble finding something to wear to a ball, is it? I’m the perfect size! _Everything_ fits me!”

“Sam,” Castiel tried, that sad look in his eyes even sadder now. “This isn’t the time.”

Sam was about to snarl at him, but like Charlie, he saw the tears brimming in Castiel’s eyes, and his anger drained away as quickly as it had arrived. Slowly, Sam dropped the waistcoats he held back into the drawer, and though they dangled out, he closed the drawer.

“I have trouble believing that he can’t find anything to wear,” Sam said coolly, gazing at Castiel. “If Dean really loves you all that much, he’d happily wear a potato sack and a blindfold with eyeholes cut out. He and I grew up thinking that was all we’d ever get to wear. And on that note, neither of us ever imagined we’d get to go to a _ball_. Cinderella-types like us didn’t get glass slippers and princes.” Sam turned to look at Dean, shaking his head. “You grew up to be an ungrateful snob, you know that?”

Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth, holding back a sob. A single tear track shone on the side of his face Sam couldn’t see.

Still with a bone to pick, Sam turned back to Dean’s drawers. His eyes moved from the drawers to the wardrobe beside it, and he reached to open it.

“Don’t,” Dean warned, but it was too late: Sam had already seen whatever was inside.

Sam put a hand into the open wardrobe, and it stayed there for a moment. Then he pulled out a hanger. On the hanger was a white padded bra with a pink bow in the centre. Sam stared at it. Charlie stared at it. Castiel stared at it.

Dean covered his face with his hands. “No-no-no- _no_ ,” he whispered. “ _Fuck_ , not now.”

Nobody moved to comfort him; nobody even understood what was happening.

“Dean,” Sam said, all traces of frustration gone from him. “What is this?”

“I dunno, what’s it _look_ like, Dumbledork?” Dean spat, opening his hands to glare at his brother.

“Is it... yours?” Sam asked.

“No, I’m just holding it for a friend,” Dean sneered, mad eyes narrowed as he tipped his head.

Sam paused, then he hung the bra back in the wardrobe where he found it. Apparently unable to quell his curiosity, his hand moved along the rack, and he pulled out something else. Another bra, this one black. He only looked at it for a moment before putting it back and pulling out something else. A shimmery, lacy piece of pink lingerie. Sam’s hand shook, and he shoved it back into the wardrobe like the hanger was hot to the touch.

Sam then pulled out a dress. It was a pretty dress, Charlie thought, something she might wear herself, perhaps to a picnic. It was a knee-length, olive green, off-the-shoulder 1950s style dress, cinched in at the waist and ruffled outward from there.

“What is this stuff?” Sam asked, slowly putting the dress back in the cupboard. He ran his fingers through the other things there, but didn’t pull anything else out. He looked back at Dean, a concerned kind of confusion all over his face.

When Charlie turned her eyes to Dean, she couldn’t help but rush towards him, sitting on the bed beside him. He’d been weeping in silence, tears streaming down his face. When Charlie hugged him, Dean leaned into her, hiding his face against her shoulder.

“I— I think,” Castiel said, his voice breaking, “I think Dean— Th- The correct term is ‘crossdresser’, I believe.”

Charlie gaped at him, surprised. “Did he say something to you? Did he tell you?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder.

“Dean?” Sam looked baffled. “Is that what this is?” He seemed flustered for a minute. “Shit, should we even be asking? Aw, man, I’m – I’m sorry I went through— This is pretty personal—”

“Oh, ya think?” Dean said, perking up off Charlie’s shoulder to growl at Sam. “Oh, yeah, let’s just go through all of Dean’s personal belongings. Let’s just see what secrets he hasn’t told us because _we wouldn’t fucking understand_.”

Sam raised his hands halfway, an apologetic shine in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That was a crappy thing to do, I was just... pissed off.”

Dean sniffed, wiping his face with his fingertips, still glaring at Sam.

“Dean,” Charlie whispered. “Is this why you said no to Cas? You wanna go in a dress?”

Dean bit his lip, and Charlie missed the moment where his eyes welled up: the next thing she knew, tears flooded down Dean’s face. Charlie didn’t think she’d ever seen him this upset.

“I— I just...” Dean breathed, struggling to pull himself together. “As a kid you dream about shit like that. What Sam said about Cinderella— I loved that story.” Dean looked at Charlie as he spoke, perhaps finding safe harbour in her eyes. “I wanted to go to some fancy ball. I dunno, maybe it was a stupid, childish dream, but I decided if I ever got to go to a ball, I wanted the pumpkin coach and the sparkly dress and the—” He looked up, meeting Castiel’s eyes across the room. “The prince.”

“So we get you a pretty ball gown,” Charlie said, holding Dean’s tear-wet hand. “There’s three weeks until the ball, that’s enough time.” She looked encouragingly at Sam and Castiel, who stared wordlessly. “Come on! We could get one made to fit his shape and stuff!”

“It’s not enough,” Dean cried, bowing his head and gripping his hair with a fist. “You don’t get it, you don’t _know_ —”

“Know _what_?” Sam asked, moving to kneel in front of Dean. “Explain it to us.”

Dean looked at Sam like there was no hope of him ever grasping the concept. But Charlie squeezed Dean’s hand, not letting go. “Tell us,” she said quietly. “We don’t want to judge you, we want to understand.”

Dean quickly wiped up his tears, and he swallowed twice, composing himself.

When he’d breathed calmly for a while, he parted his sticky lips with the tip of his tongue, and he nodded.

“I, um...” He gulped once more. “Some days I wake up, and... I feel wrong.”

He looked between watching eyes, expecting to be bombarded by questions. But Charlie just stroked his hand, and uttered, “Go on.”

Dean shrugged a tense shoulder, and he stared at his fiddling hands as he continued, “Some days I’m fine. I can put on a waistcoat and boxer shorts and gel up my hair, and I’m like, damn, I look hot. Right?” He grinned awkwardly, but licked away the smile. “But then the next day I put the same thing on and I’m worrying... like, my dick’s gonna show, my chest is so fuckin’ _flat_...” He looked down and grasped one breast with his free hand, but there was barely anything to squeeze. “I feel too big in this body, I move too rough...” He shook his head. “I hate those days.”

His eyes flicked to Charlie’s, but he looked down again when he saw she was still paying attention.

“Then there’s some days all I wanna do is put on something pretty underneath,” Dean said. “Those days are fine. I don’t mind ‘em.” He nodded upward at the wardrobe. “That’s my cupboard for witch days.” He nosed towards the drawers. “Wizard days.”

“But we only ever see you in waistcoats and shirts and pants,” Sam said, sitting back on his heels now. He hadn’t moved from Dean’s feet.

“I put the other stuff on after class,” Dean said quietly, shoulders hunched forward. He threaded his fingers through Charlie’s, curling tight for security. “On full witch days, maybe I’d... do some makeup or somethin’, I dunno.” He was embarrassed now, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Lipstick,” Charlie breathed.

Three pairs of eyes looked her way, and she shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just...” She looked at Dean for permission, and he stared back, pleading, like he _wanted_ her to reveal his secret on his behalf. So Charlie went for it. “The day Sam was hired as a teacher, I walked in here and... you were wearing lipstick. And a bra under your shirt.”

Dean managed a tiny, tiny smile, meant only for Charlie.

“I keep a record,” Dean said, standing up, bare feet on one side of Sam. He walked past and went to his nightstand, where Baby Batman squeaked at him. Dean scratched his bat’s head through the bars of the open cage, then reached into a drawer to get something.

Sam got up and went to sit back against the wizard-day chest of drawers, arms draped over his thighs.

Dean sat down at the foot of his bed again, showing Charlie a leather-bound notebook. “I’ve kept this since I was fifteen. Start of my second B.A.T. year, when I figured out some stuff.”

Charlie unwrapped the book’s cover and opened up a fan of white pages. Spread over half the pages were thousands of purple, pink and blue crosses, each one with a date beside it.

“Blue’s a wizard day,” Dean explained. “Pink is a witch day. Purple’s something in between.”

“I got that,” Charlie smiled, thumbing through pages. There were handwritten notes beside the section for each day, notes about Dean’s emotional and physical well-being that day. Charlie’s smile soon vanished, because she realised how few of these notes sounded positive.

_Wanted to wear eyeliner to Divination but Malcolm Turpis called me a fag. Wiped it off before first period ( & cried)._

_Date with Becca after school. Whole time spent wondering if Becca realises she’s dating a girl._

_Teaching 2nd-years hair growth spells. Even though it was a wizard day, I asked them to test it on me so I could see what it looked like (loved it!). Had to undo it before next period because Sam was in the next class._

_House elves don’t seem to care (or notice?) that half my laundry is panties. I really appreciate that._

_I think Bobby saw my bra strap when he patched up the scrape on my shoulder. He didn’t say anything but I could sense him thinking until I left._

Dean swallowed, looking away as Charlie flipped through the years. “There’s more wizard days than witch days,” Dean said, “but the wizard days tend to be more spread out, sandwiched in between witchzard days, whereas the witch days come in blocks, sometimes uninterrupted weeks at a time. That’s... That’s kind of what this is about.”

For the first time in several minutes, he looked up at Castiel. “I’ve been having a lot of witch days recently,” Dean said, his voice husky and dry. “I think about going as a wizard to this dance and I... I can’t.” He smiled, but he looked heartbroken. “If I have to do it looking like a guy, I can’t go. Teaching class, fine, I can put up with the charade. But that ball... That’s my limit. I’m sorry, Cas. I am. But that’s just how it is to me.” He hung his head, unable to look at Castiel for a second longer.

“You want to be a woman,” Castiel said.

Everyone looked up at him. He hadn’t spoken in so long that Charlie hadn’t expected him to speak at all.

Dean wet his lips with his tongue. “Kinda,” he replied. “I already _am_ a woman, I just wanna _look_ like a woman. Half the time I’m a witch on the inside, but the face, the voice, the body, the hair – it doesn’t fit. And I can’t change in a way that satisfies me. I’ve tried every freaking charm and human Transfiguration spell under the sun, I’ve tried making potions and I’ve tried the Muggle way, with hormones—” He rubbed his forehead. “I quit after two injections. I didn’t wanna do that. It was black market stuff and I chickened out.”

A stunned silence filled the room.

Sam took a breath. “Dean... I’m... I’m trying to imagine you as a woman, but I’m not sure... Just ou- out of curiosity, what would you wanna look like?”

Dean smirked, fingers tugging on the knot of his robe around his middle. “Long hair. Down to my waist.” He glanced up, noticed Sam’s interested expression, and glanced back down again. “Basically I’d wanna look the same, just... a little sweeter. Bring my jaw in,” he said, smoothing a finger along his strong, stubbled jawline. “No scratchy hair, obviously. Cuter nose. Smaller ears, arched brows...” He squirmed, eyes darting to Charlie.

“It’s okay,” Charlie said softly.

“And...” Dean breathed. “Boobs. Like, B-cup, maybe C-cup.”

“Nice,” Charlie smirked. “Not enough to give you back problems.”

Dean smirked shyly, touching Charlie’s thigh. “Uhhh. I want a... small waist. But knowing the stuff I eat that’s gonna be impossible to maintain. Most of all I just want smaller shoulders. If I had smaller shoulders I think the rest would be relatively easy. I guess I’d keep the bowlegs and the freckles,” he shrugged. “I mean, I don’t love them, but they’re me. So.”

Dean breaths became unsteady, and he frowned at his knees. “And I know it’s kinda weird for me to say in present company, but I want a goddamn vagina. And a clit, and that crinkly thing around it. And I wanna pee sitting down and not feel my dick touch the fuckin’ toilet.” He covered his eyes, shame colouring his cheeks.

Charlie took his hand again and held it so Dean knew he was supported. Dean turned his hand over and squeezed her fingers.

“I want dainty hands,” Dean sighed. “And for the ball, I... I wanna paint my nails.”

He smiled over at Castiel, and Charlie felt a bubbling happiness inside her when she saw Castiel smile back.

But Dean’s smile disappeared quickly, and he got up from the bed, going to his wardrobe. He ignored Sam by his knee, and he didn’t even glance at Castiel beside him. He pulled out a pair of black heeled shoes, and he took them back over to Charlie.

“I want smaller feet,” Dean said, slipping easily into the shoes, lifting one foot to do up the ankle clasp. He did it one-handed, then repeated the motion with the other foot. When he was done, he towered above everyone in the room.

He walked over to Castiel in natural strides, and Castiel grinned, amused by the height difference. Castiel’s forehead only came up to Dean’s chin.

“I wanna be this tall,” Dean said, crouching so he looked up into Castiel’s eyes from an inch below, smiling. “Tall enough to stand on my tiptoes and just...” He rose up two inches, and he kissed Castiel’s lips, pressing into him.

Castiel moved his hands towards Dean’s waist, but Dean broke the kiss and turned away.

“You probably wanna un-invite me now, though,” Dean said, his voice dull with disappointment. “You fell for a dude, not some chick you wouldn’t even recognise.”

“Dean...” Castiel stepped towards Dean, taking his hand. Dean stumbled on his stilettos as he turned, so he sat on the bed, and Castiel moved to stand before him.

“I fell in love with _you_ ,” Castiel said, cradling Dean’s cheek. “Not your genitals. Not your gender. You could show up to the ball in the body of a giant and I’d...” Castiel’s eyes darted off to the side. “I suppose I’d need a moment to process it, but,” he looked back to Dean, smiling, “if it’s still you, I won’t mind.”

Dean looked disbelieving. “What? H-H-How? Why would you still...?”

Castiel didn’t answer; he just leaned down and kissed Dean, slowly and deeply. Dean frowned at first, but Charlie watched as he melted into it, drawn and driven by Castiel’s mouth. One hand pulled Dean’s back and the other sank into his hair, holding him close.

Dean sighed, relaxing completely as Castiel let him go. Dean’s smile was weak, but it brightened as Castiel thumbed away the last traces of tears that lined his freckled cheeks.

With a wobbly smile, Charlie looked over at Sam, who still slumped against the chest of drawers. Sam caught her eye and he smiled back, though it was lopsided and strained.

“How are you coping with all of this?” Charlie asked him.

Sam’s eyes moved to Dean, and Castiel stepped aside so the brothers could see each other.

“I have a question,” Sam said. “Several, actually, but I’ll start with one.”

Dean hesitated, but then nodded. “Shoot.”

“So you’re, uh... Trans— Trans...gender?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno.” He looked to Charlie for guidance.

Charlie shrugged back. “Don’t look at me, I’ve never come across this before. Being transgender always seemed like a pretty permanent kind of mindset. But you’re all over the shop.”

Dean shrugged at Sam. “No idea.”

“I’ll ask my mom,” Charlie said. “Get back to you on that. But at a guess, yeah. It’s always spectrum stuff, right? You’re part of the trans spectrum. Non-binary. Or— Oh! You’re like those characters in the Diné creation story, the ‘Nádleehi’. They were genderfluid.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah. Nádleehi. Exactly.”

“One more question,” Sam said, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “Does it bother you that we always call you ‘Dean’? Don’t you wanna be, like, ‘Deanna’?”

Dean snorted. “Nah.”

“No?”

Dean shook his head. “I’m just Dean. All day, every day.”

“‘He’ or ‘she’?” Charlie asked. “Or ‘they’?”

“He,” Dean said. Then he reconsidered, and he shrugged. “Get back to you on that?”

Charlie chuckled, and she nodded. She leaned in to hug Dean, and Dean gripped her tight, pulling her to his chest.

Charlie blinked, feeling something hard on Dean’s middle, underneath his robe. “Uh... Dean? What are you wearing?”

“Corset,” Dean mumbled.

“ _Please_ tell me you weren’t gonna wear that to bed.”

Dean pulled out of the hug, meeting Charlie’s eyes questioningly.

“No,” Charlie said, raising a finger. “ _No_. Bad Dean! God, what would you’ve done if you never came out to us, huh?”

Dean bit his lip sheepishly, but he smiled in a quiet, thankful way. He didn’t look upset any more, and Charlie was so very, very glad. She looked around at the others, and was even more pleased to see them smiling.

“Dean?” Charlie asked. “Do we understand now? Is there anything you still need to say?”

Dean looked between them, lastly peering up at Castiel, sliding their hands together.

“I think you got it,” Dean said. “For the most part.”

“Good,” Charlie said, patting his hand.

When Dean looked over at her, Charlie beamed, taking her wand out of her robe pocket. She waved it, and a shower of sparkles descended over Dean’s face and shoulders, catching on the grey fibres of his robe.

“Dean Winchester,” Charlie said in a flowery voice, “this is your fairy godsister speaking. You _shall_ go to the ball!”

  
**☆**  
  



	17. New Potion, New Place

**{ PART VI }  
**

“Asphodel, lavender,” Dean recited, counting items off on his fingers. “Silver serrated knife for the ginger root. Puh... puh-puh-puh...”

“Any chance you could do that in your head?” Castiel asked, glancing over his shoulder at Dean. Saturday morning sunlight gleamed off his tanned cheeks and glowed in dots upon his bright eyes, and he went on staring as he waited for Dean to figure out what he was missing.

“Passionflower!” Dean exclaimed, slapping a hand onto his textbook before running to the store cupboard. “Knew it was something beginning with P.”

“Could you get me some orchid stems while you’re over there?” Castiel called.

Dean got passionflower petals and orchid stems from separate glass jars in the walk-in store cupboard, and he returned to the long desk at the side of the classroom, carrying them in either hand so the plants’ powers wouldn’t mingle.

“So what are you making?” Dean asked, handing over the orchid.

“None of your business,” Castiel said with a smile. “Carry on with your lesson, Dean. If you make Calming Draught correctly I’ll give it to Bobby to give to the students.”

“You’re just using me as manual labour,” Dean joked, shoving Castiel shoulder. “You don’t wanna spend your weekend making up tinctures for your kids so you’re saddling me with the work.”

“And in doing so, I’m teaching you how to make Calming Draught,” Castiel replied.

“And what an invaluable lesson it is,” Dean grinned, turning back to his own cauldron.

They concentrated on their individual potions for perhaps twenty minutes, speaking only when they needed to edge around each other to reach something.

Then Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead, blinking hard through the plume of purple steam that emerged from his cauldron.

“You stirred counter-clockwise,” Castiel said. “It’s nothing to worry about, the potion recovers well. Stir clockwise for five minutes and you can carry on where you left off.”

Dean did as Castiel said, glad he had the teacher right beside him for troubleshooting. Had Dean been in a class with twenty-nine other students, it would’ve been several minutes before Castiel got to his desk and there would’ve been no time left to save the potion.

After five minutes of clockwise stirring, Dean’s enchanted egg timer on the windowsill buzzed time’s-up, and Dean shook out his aching hand. With a sigh of relief, he moved to the next stage listed in the textbook.

Castiel, meanwhile, had a potion bubbling bright yellow, whistling cheerful notes every time a bubble burst. Dean erected a small force-field around his own potion, afraid some of that yellow potion would try and leap into his cauldron, which was only three feet away.

“So really,” Dean said, scattering asphodel into his cauldron. “What is that?”

“It’s a secret,” Castiel replied. He then waved his wand over the potion and said, “Anthos,” causing the potion to turn a gorgeous pink. He smiled in satisfaction, reaching to pick up a book from beside his cauldron, holding it in front of him to read.

“What’s that?” Dean asked, leaning closer.

Castiel leaned away. “Get back to your lesson, Dean.”

Dean pouted. “Aw. Don’t get all secretive on me now, Cas.” He snuck up to Castiel and hugged his waist from behind, trying to see over his shoulder. Castiel huffed and pressed the book to his chest. Dean grumbled and kissed his neck. “C’mon.”

“No, Dean,” Castiel smiled, letting Dean sway him from side to side. “I’m not going to tell you what it is.”

“At least tell me what the book is.”

“Not on your life,” Castiel said, turning his head so his cheek pressed Dean’s forehead. “Now get off me and get back to your lesson or I’ll be forced to report you to the Head of Department.”

“You _are_ Head of Department, asshat.”

“Yes.” Castiel turned around fully, eyes enigmatic as he smiled at Dean, their hips pushed together. Castiel kissed Dean’s nose, then tipped his head and grinned against his lips. “And as the Head of Department, I must insist that you cease distracting your teacher from his work.”

Dean kissed Castiel for a bit, mouthing at him, breathing slowly against his bristly upper lip. He hadn’t shaved that morning and Dean loved it.

“Hmmmm’kay,” Dean sighed eventually. He gave Castiel’s waist one last squeeze, then dragged his feet two steps to get back to his potion.

“Good boy,” Castiel smiled, smacking Dean’s ass.

Dean leaned over his cauldron so he could pretend it was just the steam making his face hot.

After half a minute of deliberation, he leaned closer to Castiel, and he touched his hand.

Castiel looked up, his blue eyes shaded lilac, reflecting his pink potion. “What is it, Dean? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Dean said. His finger curled around Castiel’s, and he licked his lips twice, working up the guts to say, “Well... yeah. Kind of. Ih- It’s actually a witch day today.”

Castiel immediately realised his mistake. “Oh, Dean,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. Let me...” He grinned, leaning to smack Dean’s ass again. “Good girl.”

Dean flustered, biting his lip and grinning. He felt a swell of appreciation in his heart, and it only grew as Castiel came close and hugged him, kissing his cheek.

“Don’t hesitate,” Castiel whispered. A warm hand cupped the back of Dean’s neck, and Castiel sank back a few inches so he could meet Dean’s eyes. “Just tell me. First time you see me in the morning, say it.”

“Say what? It’s a witch day?”

Castiel nodded. He kissed Dean, eyes closed; Dean stared with his eyes open until Castiel dropped back.

Castiel frowned. “Why do you look confused?”

“I’m not confused, I just... can’t figure out why you’re so accepting,” Dean said, his attention jumping between Castiel’s eyes every couple of seconds.

For a moment, Castiel seemed taken aback.

“Sam too,” Dean added. “And Charlie. I drop this truth bomb on you last night, and now you’re all like, sure, what do you need? Sam gave me a bottle of nail polish this morning. I mean, he said that someone he dated left it behind, but I— I’m just...?”

Castiel smiled too sweetly, both hands cradling the back of Dean’s skull. “We love you, Dean,” he said simply. “We need you to be happy as much as you do. If you’re not happy, not... comfortable... we’re all missing a piece of ourselves.”

Dean smiled, looking down as Castiel kissed him once more and pulled away.

They returned to their respective potions, but Dean couldn’t concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time. He kept looking up, gazing through coloured steam at Castiel, wondering how he got so lucky.

The fifth time, Castiel caught him looking. They stared, smiling.

“Cas,” Dean said, glancing down, then back up.

“Hm?”

Dean swallowed. “You’re not making another autism ‘cure’, are you?”

Castiel smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled up. “No,” he said softly.

“So, this one...?”

Castiel turned to it, sliding an iron ladle into its thick and voluminous depths. “This one is for you.”

  
**☆**  
  


Dean got no answers beyond that. Castiel would not confirm or deny any guesses Dean made, he would not offer hints, he would not allow Dean to see the entirety of the ingredients he’d used – nor would he leave his instructions unattended, knowing Dean would try and sneak a peek.

When they prepared to exit the Potions room late that evening, Castiel left his potion simmering, and he shut the instruction book in an enchanted box, locked with a password. Dean tried guessing the password in whispers until Castiel caught him and dragged him out of the room by his hand.

They went to dinner together, and as always, they sat beside each other at the teachers’ table.

Dean gave Castiel some of his dessert, since ice cream with jam sauce was Cas’ favourite. Sam noticed the exchange of bowls. Dean caught his eye and pretended nothing had happened. Sam ate his own dessert, smiling at Charlie beside him.

The three weeks leading up to the ball were some of the most bizarre and exciting weeks of Dean’s life. The days and nights weren’t filled with explosions, or big realisations, or great events, but every day he felt his heart skip a beat, butterflies in his tummy, a blush on his cheeks.

Castiel and Dean were in a relationship. Dean only realised that on the fourth day, when Castiel kissed him hello at the breakfast table. Dean looked around in a panic, only to realise it was six o’clock on a Tuesday morning and not one student had arrived in the breakfast hall. Castiel laughed at Dean’s flustering, and he and Dean held hands as they hovered their plates past the buffet, picking out things to eat.

On the seventh day – their first Friday anniversary, Dean supposed – they said goodnight to each other in the teachers’ common room, packing up their students’ marked papers together. They said goodnight to the other teachers too, and they left together.

Down the spiral staircase, passing candles in their clay alcoves, they reached the turn for Dean’s quarters. There they stopped on the same step of the staircase, and Dean gazed at Castiel, watching the candlelight flicker in his eyes.

“G’night,” Dean said, resting his chin on the papers clutched to his chest.

“Goodnight,” Castiel replied.

They stared for a little longer, each saying “Goodnight,” to Professor D’Angel as he passed them on his way to bed. The ghost of a jellyfish swam along in his wake, its calm purple light receding as it followed the curve of the staircase.

Dean checked they were alone again, then he inched toward Castiel, hoping for a quick kiss.

But Castiel took three steps forward, pushing Dean up against the opposite wall, kissing him hard. Dean felt his knees go weak and he dropped all his papers; they scattered onto his slippers and floated down the stairwell without a hand reaching for them. Dean moaned, his body blazing with heat under Castiel’s kisses, his back arching away from the wall as Castiel pulled Dean’s hips towards him.

“Mmmhh,” Dean murmured, dizzy as Castiel breathed into his mouth. “Cas...”

Castiel grinned, nibbling on Dean’s lower lip. He let go, and Dean exhaled, a tremble in his breath.

“Sleep with me tonight,” Castiel said, nuzzling Dean’s cheek. “Let’s make love again.”

“Hh-h’kay,” Dean breathed, shivering. He couldn’t believe the utter discomposure Castiel had inspired in him so quickly. He was on fire, his skin sparkling like wet diamonds, a tumbling, twirling elation dancing through his belly, all the way to his fingertips and toes.

Castiel tipped his head to the side, admiring Dean’s mouth with a smirk curling his own. “My bed or yours?”

Dean shrugged. “Mine’s closer.”

Castiel took Dean and pushed him into his bedroom. Dean scrambled inside, undoing his robe and taking off his boxers, waiting naked for Castiel as he came in with the dropped papers, charmed neatly into a stack again.

Castiel closed the door behind them, and with a wave of his wand, the one candle by Baby Batman’s empty cage became a dozen, hovering around the room.

Dean collapsed on his bed, already panting, squirming in place in his excitement. He tugged on his semi-erection, making quiet noises of pleasure.

Turning his head, Dean saw Castiel put down the papers and take off his own bathrobe, then unbutton his striped pyjamas. He folded the clothing neatly, eyes never straying from Dean’s.

When Castiel was naked, he crawled onto the bed with Dean, and Dean opened his legs, wanting Cas between them.

They lay together, wriggling themselves comfortable and absorbing each other’s heat. Their wriggles became more pronounced, and then they really started to move, favouring the instinctual urge to shift their hips, to rub together.

Dean let Castiel frot against him, let him grasp his hips and fuck down, cock to cock, hips to hips, kissing every so often, moaning whenever the thrill got the better of them. They ran hands through each other’s sweat and they rolled back and forth on the bed, laughing whenever their noses bumped.

Their eyes were dark and their kisses were hot, their bloodstreams pounding like they had one heart.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, and Dean hummed a delighted moan, his hairless legs wrapping tighter around Castiel’s hips.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean cried, his hands reaching for purchase in the sheets, or one post of his dark-wood bed, gripping it as they rocked, as they pummelled the bed against the wall.

They went fast, they went slow. They stopped for a moment, wanting to put off the final climax for as long as they could. They panted against each other’s necks, spiced red breath and burning hands, fingers tangling in hair.

And then Castiel started their dance again, stroking Dean’s inner thigh, shifting between Dean’s legs.

Dean groaned more than Castiel. He sighed happily whenever a hard sparkle faded from him, but it was never long before a new one began to build, and he was the one to claw at Castiel’s back, keening in bursts of movement, his desire heightened by every thrust Castiel made.

Castiel liked to hum out his pleasure, a new, guttural sound each time. His purrs grounded Dean’s drifting and clouded mind like a kite string, in a way; he shook him the way only the Earth could. Castiel would kiss Dean instead of crying out; he’d hold him tighter instead of moaning. He was far from silent – he vocalised on his breaths; he’d gasp and he’d whimper whenever he couldn’t hold back a noise, but he was more conscious of their current place, more conscious that people might hear them.

They weren’t allowed to make love, not here. But after a week they’d needed it. They couldn’t do without it any more.

It wasn’t about the sex, not entirely. Dean felt an orgasm building up, tight at the base of the spine, and yes, for those incredible minutes with Castiel pleasuring him, he thought the sex was marvellous. His breath became laboured and his eyes fell shut; he grasped Castiel’s shoulders and begged in broken noises for the peak to come.

Soon Dean tipped free, and his orgasm spread between his body and Castiel’s in a hot and glorious mess. By that point, Dean had long forgotten the nature of sex, that this animalistic drive was essentially about mating. For Dean and Castiel it was about intimacy achievable no other way.

They wanted to touch. Kiss. To rock together and laugh at the desperate wails that slipped from their mouths. To hold each other close, breathing in each other’s sweat and sighed breaths.

They couldn’t have done this in the car, Dean decided, still shaking from his orgasm, still seeing coloured spots when he opened his eyes. They had to do it here, where they could lie back and hold each other’s skin, kiss shoulders and run fingers through hair. They could be barefoot here, they could stretch out naked.

Castiel sobbed and laughed as he came on Dean, across his belly like last time. His head was bent forward, his torso raised while his hips carried on nudging Dean. His hair was black with sweat, its sheen caught in orange and yellow from the candles. He smiled asymmetrically, dark eyes drinking down the sight of Dean splattered with a sticky white mess.

“It’s still warm,” Dean uttered enticingly.

“Hm-hm,” Castiel laughed, eyes crinkling up. That was Dean’s favourite of Castiel’s expressions.

“Go on,” Dean encouraged, sliding his fingers into Castiel’s hair. “You’re not the only one who likes it.”

Castiel slowed to stillness, eyebrows raised.

Dean shrugged. “Put some in your mouth and kiss me?”

Castiel gulped. Dean’s heart beat faster as he sank down, their gazes locked.

Dean shut his eyes, smiling as he felt Castiel kissing and licking his stomach, going lower and lower. Castiel took Dean’s spent cock into his mouth and sucked, drawing out a leftover dribble of come. Dean gasped, squirming to push himself deeper into Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel snorted, spitting out Dean’s cock. He nuzzled Dean’s hip, still snickering.

“What?” Dean grinned, scritching at Castiel’s hair.

“You,” Castiel muttered. “Me.” He kissed Dean’s belly again, and slunk up Dean’s front, lying atop him again. His face was shiny with come, and he was still grinning as he kissed Dean, letting come slide off his tongue and into Dean’s wanting, open mouth. “This is revolting.”

Dean blushed, swallowing what was in his mouth. He didn’t even know whose come it was. All he noticed was how salty it was, and how easily it slid down his throat.

Castiel wiped his face on Dean’s pillow, then kissed Dean’s neck. “You’re filthy.”

“ _You’re_ filthy,” Dean rebutted, slinging a leg over Castiel’s ass. “You started it, you said you liked it when it was warm.”

“I didn’t know you’d make a habit of swallowing it,” Castiel whispered, sucking on Dean’s ear, then sighing into it. The tickle made Dean grin.

Dean turned his face so he was nose-to-nose with Castiel, and they kissed slowly, smacking lips, nudging cheeks as they tilted their heads.

They settled down, curling against each other. They held each other’s eyes for a moment which stretched on into minutes. They smiled until their smiles relaxed away, stroking each other’s hair.

Dean reached off the bed and uttered a quiet, “Accio wand.” It landed in his palm, straight from the pocket of his discarded robe. With his wand he cleaned up the mess on his own skin, then he did the same for Castiel, before lifting the wand to Castiel’s nose and tapping him once. Castiel blinked, then smiled, now clean.

Dean waved his wand again and the bedclothes whipped out from under them, slowly draping over their naked skin. The cloth was hot from their own bodies, and the heat was satisfying.

Dean snuggled closer to Castiel, putting his wand down on the nightstand, then sliding his arms around Cas’ hips.

As they began to blink harder, and their eyes stayed closed for longer each time, Dean took a breath and he mumbled a question. “Do you still feel awkward about this?” he asked, kissing Castiel’s chin between words.

Castiel pressed his lips together, a fake smile. “A little,” he admitted. “This time because I know we weren’t meant to do this here in the castle.”

“You couldn’t resist me, could you?” Dean grinned, dragging himself against Castiel, then rolling on top of him. They kissed, sharing breaths.

“All I was going to do was ask you to share my bed,” Castiel said. “But then I asked and things got out of hand.”

Dean grinned, smooching Castiel once more before letting him roll them over again. Dean pecked Castiel’s lips. “All I was gonna do was kiss you goodnight.” He kissed him once more, because he could. “Saying things got outta hand is kind of an understatement.”

“Do you regret it?” Castiel asked.

“Regret? Are you kidding me?” Dean stroked hair back from Castiel’s forehead.

“Does that mean no?”

Dean smirked. “That means no. Not one breath of regret, Cas.”

Castiel smiled shyly, nestling himself into the bedclothes. He brought Dean closer with strong hands, and Dean happily twisted his legs around Castiel’s.

They fell asleep that night held in each other’s arms.

And the next night.

And the next night too.

By the fourteenth night, Dean’s clothes for the morning would be hung over Castiel’s wardrobe door; his shoes and socks would be left untidily on the soft rugs Castiel liked to layer over the tiles. The house elves came to accept that there would no longer be laundry in Dean’s basket but twice as much in Castiel’s, and on the fifteenth day, their laundry basket had been enlarged so it wouldn’t overflow every evening.

There were two toothbrushes in the bathroom, and a box of makeup beside the toothpaste.

Dean let Castiel see him with makeup once, while they relaxed in their shared quarters on the seventeenth night. Castiel sat cross-legged on the bed, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his feet bare. He ran a hand through his hair, his favourite parrot-feather quill spinning between his fingers. Dean emerged from the bathroom, slowly taking off his robe.

Dean sat on the bed, watching Castiel plan his lessons. He waited for Castiel to notice him.

Castiel turned a page.

Dean got up and sat beside Castiel, kissing his cheek. Castiel kissed back, but his eyes didn’t leave the papers in his lap.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, taking Castiel’s chin in a hand and turning it his way.

“Hm?” Castiel said. Then he squinted. Then he stopped squinting. “Hm,” he said again, more softly.

“Do you like it?” Dean asked, biting his lip. He was trying to smile seductively, but he knew he was only self-conscious.

“I... have no opinion,” Castiel said. He blinked. “It’s different, it’s not good or bad. If you like it, I’m glad.”

Dean chewed his lower lip. He could taste the rose in the lipstick.

Castiel stared for a while, examining the dusky pink on Dean’s lips, then the extra layer of eyelashes affixed over his upper lash lines. He seemed to pay extra attention to the black kohl eyeliner Dean had put on, and the perfume. He breathed deeply.

“Jasmine,” Castiel said, exhaling. “Like the flowers on your wand.”

Dean smiled. “For years I held my wand so my hand would hide those flowers,” he said. “Kids saw it had flowers on it and they laughed. I mean, hilarious, right? A wizard with flowers on his wand? The girls thought it was cute but...” Dean raised a shoulder, curling a finger around his slipping bra strap and putting it back in place. “I do better magic when I hold my wand properly. Let the flowers breathe.”

“I’ve decided,” Castiel said, an earnest look in his eyes. He leaned to kiss Dean, and he stroked his cheek once he moved back. “You look elegant.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah?”

“Like a princess.” Castiel ran his thumb over Dean’s lipstick, then he looked at the pink smear on his thumb. “I wonder...”

Dean started to smile. “What do you wonder?”

Castiel had a sparkle of excitement in his eyes when he met Dean’s gaze. “What would I look like with lipstick?”

Dean laughed, and surged against Castiel, pinning him to the bed. “How ‘bout I show you, huh?”

They kissed, Dean’s manner ferocious. They made out until Castiel was definitely wearing more lipstick than Dean. By that point they were both hard, and it seemed like a waste not to finish.

Dean went to wash later that night and discovered a smudged ring of lipstick around the head of his dick. He laughed in the shower, and explained to the curious Castiel once he got out. Castiel smirked, and held out an arm, inviting Dean to lie with him.

They slept together every night. Every weekday they taught their lessons, and after class they’d spend their time in the Potions classroom.

When Dean had mastered Calming Draught, and had the satisfaction of knowing he’d helped out some stressed kids, he learned how to make the Draught of Living Death. Though it was only partially successful, Castiel urged him to move onto brewing Amortentia, Veritaserum, then a quick step back to Pepperup Potion when Castiel came down with a sniffle.

While Castiel recovered in bed and couldn’t get to his classroom, he instructed Dean to write a paper on the moral and emotional conundrums faced by regular users of Felix Felicis, the potion known as Liquid Luck.

Once Castiel recovered enough to mark schoolwork, he awarded Dean an Outstanding grade for his paper. Dean showed Sam with a proud grin plastered across his face. Sam gave him a sticker. Dean beamed at the little bouncing phoenix on his work for half an hour before bed.

Castiel continued to make the same mysterious pink potion. Every few days it changed colour: pink to purple to grey to white, then white to black to pink again. Dean had once held some suspicions on what it could be, but by the twentieth day, he’d all but forgotten. Like the turquoise potion Castiel had worked on for well over a year, Dean eventually learned not to ask, not to wonder, not to think too deeply about it. The pink potion became mundane to the students in Castiel’s classroom. Seeing it became mundane in Dean’s remedial Potions classes. And it became mundane in Dean’s life.

But at eleven o’clock at night on the twenty-first day, Dean’s attention was properly drawn to its purpose, its use, and it became as distant from mundane as it could be.

Castiel’s potion was the novelty Dean had long been waiting for.

  
**☆**  
  



	18. The Pink Potion

“Dean— Hey, Dean!”

Dean paused at the corner of the teachers’ common room before the stairs, one hand on the wall. He turned, smiling as he saw Charlie running to him, her red robes flapping against her legs.

“‘Sup.”

“Have you seen Cas?” Charlie asked. “I need to go over some last-minute details about the ball tomorrow.”

“Weird as it sounds, I haven’t seen him all day,” Dean said morosely, leading Charlie down into the stairwell, heading for the men’s quarters. “He’s not in his classroom, I was just gonna go see if he’s in our room.”

“Our—?”

Dean paused on a stair. “His,” he corrected.

“You said ‘our’.”

“Well, I meant ‘his’,” Dean frowned, marching onward. “How’s he getting on with the ball-planning committee, anyway? He won’t talk to me about it.”

“The more secrecy the better,” Charlie said. “We all want it to be a surprise. The kids’ minds are going to be _blown_. Yours too.”

Dean put his hands in his pockets, following the curve of the stairs. “Right,” he said, tonelessly. “Sure. Awesome.”

“Jeez, what’s up with you?” Charlie asked.

A muscle jumped in Dean’s jaw as he gritted his teeth. “ _Nothin’_.” But the anger melted away immediately, and he was left feeling... sad.

“Um, your room’s here,” Charlie said as they reached an arched doorway, but Dean kept descending. Charlie followed.

They passed Professor Rufus Turner’s room and Bobby Singer’s next. Dean’s new room – _Castiel’s_ room – was some way down.

Charlie smirked at Dean’s side. “Is all your stuff still in your room?”

Dean glanced at her, glad his flush was hidden in the candlelight. “Most of it’s in his.”

“Witch stuff too?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Hm!” Charlie sounded pleased.

“Glad _you’re_ so happy,” Dean grouched. “Ball’s tomorrow night. And I’m... I’m not even the slightest bit prepared, am I? I got my Prince Charming, but... that’s all. I can’t even make myself a damn dress ‘cause – God, it just makes me _sad_. Like I said. If I can’t go lookin’ like a chick...”

He went quiet, too heartbroken to even say it aloud. Missing the chance of a lifetime just because he couldn’t stand his reflection half the time, it seemed so selfish. What about what Cas wanted?

But— But what about what _Dean_ wanted—?

“And like _I_ said, Dean,” Charlie’s soft voice broke the silence, “Your fairy godsister’s got you covered.”

Dean came to the door that used to be Castiel’s door, but now it was his door too, so he didn’t bother to knock. He opened it and walked in, and Charlie followed.

“Hey,” Dean smiled, seeing Castiel standing facing the bed. “Was hoping we’d find you heee...re.”

Castiel turned around, holding something behind his back. Dean’s words had trailed off, immediately suspicious.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, smiling.

“I... um.” Castiel’s eyes darted to Charlie, then back to Dean. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Came lookin’ for you,” Dean explained, sidling up into Castiel’s space. He leaned into kiss him, and Castiel kissed back, but his hands stayed behind him. Dean reached out, but as soon as his fingers touched Castiel’s middle, Castiel backed away, breaking the kiss.

“You’re too nosy,” Castiel scowled.

Dean raised his hands. “Hey, I wouldn’t be if you weren’t so secretive about everything.”

“I wouldn’t be so secretive if you weren’t so nosy,” Castiel replied.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, do you want me to come back later?” He thumbed over his shoulder at Charlie. “Bradbury here’s got some ball-related discussion to have with you.”

Castiel was about to reply, but then he looked down, considering his response. When he looked up, he shook his head. “I actually have some ball-related discussion to have with you, too.”

Dean waited.

Castiel licked his lips, and slowly moved his arm to show Dean what he held.

In his hand was a glass vial of potion, one of the same vials into which students would pour a completed potion so Castiel could mark its quality.

Dean slowly reached to take the vial. It was warm from Castiel’s hand, and the liquid inside moved thickly, like pink-tinted glue paste. “This is for me?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “It’s what I’ve spent the last three weeks making. The book was _Minerva McGonagall’s Practical Guide to Human Transfiguration_. It includes potion instructions, which come highly recommended in the _Prize Potions_ magazine.”

Dean took a slow breath, and his fingers curled around the vial. “Is... Is this what I think it is?”

“I hope so,” Castiel said in a rush, turning around and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I wrote down your specifications so I wouldn’t forget, and I checked and double-checked—” Castiel faced Dean again, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. “I don’t have time to remake it if it’s wrong. At least the ball is a masquerade; if you go as you are now, nobody would know it’s you in your dress.”

“He doesn’t have a dress yet,” Charlie said, standing behind Dean, holding his shoulder. “I told him to hold off until the potion was done.”

Dean turned halfway around to look at her. “You never mentioned a potion... Wait, did you _know_ about this?”

Charlie smiled. “‘Course. Why do you think I haven’t worked my ass off trying to find you a perfect make-Dean-look-feminine charm? Because I knew Cas was already doing a potion, that’s why.”

Tears in his eyes, Dean flew to Castiel and wrapped his arms around his neck, kissing him. “Thank you,” he murmured, peppering him with smooches. “ _Thank you_.” He pulled back, warmed head-to-toe by the love in Castiel’s gaze. Dean’s smile shook as he looked down at the precious potion in his hand.

“Okay,” he breathed, steeling himself. “Can I take it now?” he asked Castiel hopefully.

“Ah... A standard vial that size would last twenty-five hours for the average male, according to the book,” Castiel said. “The ball tomorrow night ends at midnight.” He looked behind him, and spotted the group of cogs and wheels floating in mid-air by the moonlit window. As he looked, the clock hands ticked up to the hour. “Ten to eleven. So,” Castiel smiled at Dean, “if you drink it in about ten minutes, that vial ought to last until exactly midnight tomorrow. Just enough time for the ball.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, unable to take his eyes off the vial. Held in his hands were so many wishes granted. He could barely believe it was real.

“I recommend holding off on drinking it,” Castiel warned. “At least for a while.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said, staring at the miracle in his hand. He was trembling inside, his mind ablaze with imaginings of how he would look once the magic was inside him.

“You guys wanna bear witness?” he asked, smiling halfway.

Charlie and Castiel exchanged glances. Charlie spoke first, looking at Dean, “Wouldn’t you rather change in private?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. Could use some emotional support. But maybe, umm... Maybe Cas should go. So it’s a surprise when I show up at the ball tomorrow night. Charlie doesn’t mind seeing me naked, right?” he asked, breathing out a nervous laugh.

Castiel ducked his head, grinning, while Charlie’s eyes crinkled up as she smiled.

“Go for it,” Charlie said, patting Dean’s arm. “I’m here for you. Maybe the dress should be a surprise too,” Charlie suggested. “Like the night before a wedding!”

“Oh!” Castiel said, eyes brightening. “We should match. My waistcoat and your dress.”

“And maybe a corsage,” Charlie said. “I’m thinking pink, would set off the green in Dean’s eyes.”

“Sure,” Dean said, rolling the potion bottle back and forth across his palms in his eagerness. “Cas, you mind wearing pink?”

Castiel smiled, peering down into Dean’s eyes. “Anything you want, Dean. It’s your night.”

“That’s settled, then,” Charlie announced. “Cas can sleep somewhere else tonight. Fairy godsister Charlie will take care of _every_ thing.”

Dean turned back to Castiel, smiling. “Girls’ night in?”

Castiel ducked his head and chuckled. “I’ll get my toothbrush.”

He collected up his things to fill a small overnight bag, muttering good-naturedly about being kicked out of his own quarters for the night. He got his pyjamas and the clothes he’d planned on wearing to the ball. They weren’t too different to what he usually wore to class, just newer: a grey waistcoat, a darker velvet jacket, a white shirt and white cravat, along with pressed storm-grey pants. They’d crumple in the bag but ironing was easy with a wand.

Dean breathed out again through the narrow O of his lips. He kicked off his shoes, then he trod on his socks to remove them.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked, while picking out a shiny pair of shoes for himself.

“I’m getting ready to take my potion, what does it look like?” Dean said. He took hold of his shirt and unbuttoned it quickly, then skimmed off his pants. He turned his back to Castiel, asking, “Could you get this for me?”

Castiel undid Dean’s bra for him, and Dean slipped it off, tossing it on the bed. He turned and rummaged in Castiel’s drawers for a t-shirt, and he found a grey one and put it on. He didn’t want to be totally naked; panties and a t-shirt were enough for him.

Warily, Castiel imparted, “Dean... I calculated the potion exactly. As soon as you drink it, the hourglass is turned, and your new visage is limited to twenty-five hours precisely. For your own sake, please don’t rush this.”

“Don’t worry, buddy, I’m gonna savour every moment,” Dean assured him, all his attention on the bottle. God, he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t _wait_.

Castiel exhaled. “I hope you have a fun night, ladies,” he said, giving Charlie a hug, then turning to Dean and cupping his jaw to kiss him. “I’ll see you at the ball.” He checked the clock. “Twenty hours, one minute.” He kissed Dean one more time, thumbing his stubbled chin. “I’ll be counting the seconds.”

Dean bit his lip and watched Castiel go, drowning in that endless tingly, bubbly, happy feeling in his heart, the one that took over whenever Cas was around.

Castiel waved when he opened the door to leave, and Dean waved back.

The door closed, and Charlie laughed. “God, you two are revolting. You’re gonna give me tooth decay with all this sweetness.”

“Shuddup,” Dean smiled, cradling his vial and shrugging.

“Okay,” he said, running his hands through his short, spiky hair one last time. “Here goes, I guess.”

“You’re not gonna hold off a few more minutes?”

Dean scoffed, looking at the clock. “It’s eleven. Me and Cas are probably gonna skip out on the party before midnight anyways. C’mon, you think we’d pass up the chance to get lucky on wizard prom night? Please.”

Charlie smiled. “Can’t wait, huh?”

“Not another second.” Dean’s hand was shaking.

He gave a brave smile, then uncorked the vial, and raised the potion in a toast. And he set the vial to his lips, and tipped it into his mouth.

It tasted like strawberries. Not real strawberries, but the fake ones that confectioners thought would make a good candy flavour. Dean swallowed, and was reminded of bubblegum bursting over his nose, and that scooping movement of his jaw and bottom teeth he’d do to drag the bubble back into his mouth.

When the vial was empty, Dean handed it back to Charlie.

“How’s it feel?” Charlie asked, screwing her hands around the vial.

Dean looked down at himself, shaking his head. “Nothing yet. It’s cold in my stomach...”

After a moment, Charlie inhaled sharply. “Dean...”

Dean looked at her, and saw her wide eyes staring back.

“Your hair...”

Dean set a hand on his head, and felt a flare of excitement as he felt the gel in his hair growing out, becoming softer as his locks thickened, tickling the tops of his ears. “Oh my God,” he laughed, gripping his scalp, feeling his hands filling up with hair that curled against his palms. He let go and it tumbled to his shoulders; he looked left and it swept back, he looked right and it swung to hit him in the face, stinging his eyes. He laughed, eyes watering.

He took a lock of hair as it reached his chest, and he looked at it closely. “It’s red,” Dean gasped.

“Browny-red,” Charlie smiled. “Blonde in the candlelight. It’s at your waist.” She moved forward, tugging gently on a lock of hair. “And it’s stopped growing.”

Dean bit his lip and grinned, spinning around. His hair flowed right back around his shoulder, tumbling in soft waves down his chest. He stroked it, and realised—

“Boobs?!” Dean gripped the neck of his t-shirt and looked underneath. He yelped in joy as he saw breasts swelling from his chest, growing as he watched. He could no longer see his navel, and in a moment, he could no longer see his nipples, either. He let go of his shirt and set both hands on his breasts, squeezing them. They were sensitive and soft and _heavy_.

When Dean looked up in awe, he saw Charlie staring at his chest. “Eyes up here, lady,” Dean grinned, winking when Charlie glanced up.

Charlie grinned back. “Are they the right size?”

“Bigger than I expected,” Dean said, peeking under his shirt again. “And my nipples point down. And my nipples are so _big_...”

“Nipples are temperature-sensitive, they’ll look completely different in the cold.”

Dean was already distracted, holding his ass. “I have a bubble butt!”

“You already had a bubble butt,” Charlie smiled. “Look at your hips.”

Dean spun around happily, running his hands over his hips. They weren’t any wider, nor less blocky, but his waist had come in a bit, which made his hips more prominent. Dean rubbed his belly, giggling when he felt soft tummy pudge. “I look like a Greek goddess.”

“Eros’ sister,” Charlie suggested. “Or his mother Aphrodite.”

“Ew, no,” Dean said. “Girl version of Eros.” He beamed, lifting his shirt halfway to show Charlie his midriff. “That V-muscle is gone.”

“So’s your dick,” Charlie said, eyebrows raised. “Your panties are all loose.”

Dean gasped and grabbed his crotch, overtaken by a wave of amazement and panic as he felt a strange _absence_ where there’d always been a bulge and a weight.

“Can’t you feel yourself changing as it happens?” Charlie asked.

Dean shook his head, breathless. “My dick’s gone. My dick’s _gone_.”

“Go look,” Charlie laughed, taking Dean’s hand and pulling him to the bathroom. She shoved him in, waiting outside. “I’ll be right out here.”

Dean stood and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, caught off-guard by the sight of himself.

His face...

He looked like somebody else. If Dean had been born with a twin sister, this would’ve been her face. Dean still had his green eyes and long lashes, his freckles, his pouty pink lips – but he touched his lips and they were soft, like rose petals. His facial hair and all traces of facial hair were gone. Not even a shadow.

Dean’s jaw was rounded, and the once-double groove at the point of his chin was now a single point. He ran his fingers over it; it was smooth and soft and he was reminded of a dozen girls whose chins he’d held this way.

The slope of his shoulders was lower; his neck was slimmer, his muscle was made subtle. His Adam’s apple was gone. His t-shirt hung loose around his neck, not fitting like it did before.

It took Dean a minute of staring before he realised he was attractive.

He smiled. He liked his face. It felt like his own face now. Not a sister’s. _His_.

He took off his shirt – and was surprised that he instinctively lifted it with his hands crossed on the front hem, not gripped from the back like he usually did. That was just... bizarre.

He held the t-shirt dangling in one hand, and he stared at his chest. He had breasts, resting warm against his stomach. He touched one, fingers moving to the nipple. His nipple was fat and dark, but it shrunk as he touched it, became wrinkled, and the entire breast hung more perkily. “What the fuck,” he chuckled under his breath.

He bent down and was about to take his panties off, but was stopped by the sight of his legs. They’d always been bowed outward at the knee, and they still were, but they were... different now. He didn’t know how, exactly, but they didn’t look the same. His feet were slimmer and smaller.

He stroked a hand up his thigh, tucking his fingers under the band of his panties. He slid his hand into his pubic hair and sighed, eyes falling shut as he scratched his fingertips back and forth through the hair, feeling the mound of fatty tissue beneath. His fingers slid down, between the lips of his labia, and he whimpered, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink for support.

“It worked,” Dean said, his voice shaking and light. “It— Oh my god, it _worked_...”

A soft knock came at the bathroom door, and Dean turned around to open it.

Charlie peeked in. “Is it okay if I—” She saw where Dean had put his hand and she turned away. “WHOA! Warn a gal, would you? Jeez.” Her voice came across the room, calling, “Do you want some privacy?”

“Not tonight,” Dean said, sliding his hand free and pulling up his panties so they snapped tight against his hips. “We got a dress to design.” He grinned; his voice sounded low and sweet, and though it was still deep, there was not one gruff note in his words.

Comparing himself to Charlie, Dean was taller than he’d expected to be, though he was several inches shorter than usual. He stood beside his friend, bobbing on the balls of his feet in his excitement, making his boobs bounce on purpose. He kept stroking his hair, so enraptured by the feeling of silky tresses under his fingers, knowing they were his own. He touched his shoulders, so aware of how beautifully slim they were.

“Hey, Dean? I have an idea,” Charlie said, holding up a finger. “There’s a pretty little vintage number I’ve got hidden in my closet. I’m thinking... mm, yeah, it would be an _excellent_ base for what I’m going to make you. I _was_ planning on wearing it myself tomorrow night, but your need is greater.” She shook her head when Dean tried to interrupt. “Nuh-uh! No arguments. I want you to have it. If you wanna make it fair, I can pinch something outta your closet and wear that.”

In a rush of wholehearted appreciation, Dean grabbed Charlie and hugged her tight, squeezing the breath out of her. “Thank you,” Dean whispered. “Thank you so damn much, Charlie.”

Charlie patted Dean on the back, and croaked out, “No problem. Just doing my fairy-godsister-slash-best-friend duties.”

As they separated, Charlie caught Dean’s eye, saw how happy he was, and she smiled until her eyes glistened with tears.

  
**☆**  
  



	19. Masquerade

The Fountain Room had been expanded for tonight. Castiel kept looking at the dainty candle alcoves in the white walls, counting them, but he counted three hundred across, which was the same number there were before. Yet, somehow, the room now comfortably held over two hundred people, a stage, and a dining area, where previously there’d only been room for fifty souls at the most.

The fountain burbled cheerfully, its spouting water sparkling brighter than ever. A dozen phoenixes perched along the top rims of the room, swaying their tails in time to the music. Their feathers swished through the leaves of the Missouri Everloves and the new heart-shaped vines that curled between them. Some magic seemed to mix where the birds and the plants touched, as trails of golden sparks poured down the walls, making every leaf and flower glitter and gleam.

Castiel sat quietly at a round dining table, his legs stretched out on the tiles, one leg draped with the white tablecloth. He twiddled a silver fork between a thumb and his forefinger, eyes following the smooth movements of the students on the dancefloor. The corners of his sight were dark, as his mask hovered before his face, the eye-holes cut in curves to follow the shape of the blue, black and silver embroidery. A single grey pheasant feather leapt up from beside his ear, trailing in a soft sweep over his head.

Despite the usual informality when it came to entertainment at Jinxes, teachers and students alike had taken to a formal dance like phoenixes to fire, or lizards to sunny rocks, or jackrabbits to the dusty undergrowth. Ball gowns of countless colours twirled between each other in sparkling flashes of cloth and legs; shoes tapped as a waltz spun the room.

Castiel recognised no-one’s face, as everyone wore a mask. Most were highly decorated, with glitter or feathers or enchanted beads, covering the forehead to the nose. Some were magical: animal ears twitched, whiskers floated as the students danced. Fish scales gleamed, tree branches heaved with blossom. With magic powers at the students’ disposal, there were no rules to how fantastic a mask could become.

Castiel saw smiles and he heard laughter, but mostly he paid attention to the music – sheepskin drums, Diné flutes, rattles, whistles, and what was possibly some kind of violin. A live band had been hired for the night. Both the men and the women wore turquoise-dyed clothing, had their hair in long black plaits, and they talked among themselves on the squat stage as they played. There was an ease and comfort in their performance that made Castiel want to listen and watch forever.

When the song changed, and a faster waltz began to play, Castiel looked up at the clock that hovered above the band. It was Castiel’s own design, the same as the small one in his bedroom, but this one was ten feet across. All the cogs and wheels were displayed proudly, in a testament to the beauty of functional technology.

The clock read thirty-four minutes past eight. Dean and Charlie were both over half an hour late.

With a sigh, Castiel put his fork down and pushed it away, instead leaning forward over his knees. He hunched, head up to watch the party go on without him. He ached to dance, as he enjoyed dancing, but the thought of dancing alone filled him with melancholy.

Soon Sam came up to Castiel’s table and sat down with a great sigh of exhilaration. He wore an orange zig-zag mask across his face, a silver outline covering most of one eye, none of the other. “Great party,” Sam smiled, handing Castiel a long-stemmed glass full of butterbeer. “How much of this set-up was yours?”

“I made the clock,” Castiel said, nodding towards it. He picked up his butterbeer and took a sip, swallowing down the caramel nectar with a small smile. “I also hired the band, and I poured a potion into the fountain which makes it move in time to the music.”

“Oh, really?” Sam sounded impressed. “It looks incredible all put together.” His eyes drifted away, and he scanned the room for a minute. When he looked back at Castiel, he was frowning curiously. “Where’s Dean, by the way? I haven’t seen him come in.”

“Neither have I,” Castiel said, staring into his drink. He sipped it again, looking away from Sam so Sam couldn’t see Castiel’s distress.

Sam started, “Did he—?”

Bothered by Sam’s sudden silence, Castiel looked across.

Sam leaned in close, voice quiet as he finished, “Is Dean coming as a woman?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said truthfully. “Last night he told me he’d drink the potion I made him...” He looked around, but no flash of pink met his eye. The students wore blue and yellow and silver and purple, but pink, Castiel supposed, was reserved for Dean. “The party started the best part of an hour ago. I’m starting to think he’s not coming.”

“You think he chickened out.” Sam leaned back, a sad shine in the eye Castiel could see clearly.

Castiel drank half his butterbeer, licking the foam off his lip. “People asked me all day, where’s Dean? Where’s Dean? Every time I’ve had to say I don’t know. Who are you taking to the ball, they asked. I said...” Castiel lowered his eyes. “Someone very special. Who?” Castiel frowned and looked away. “A woman I’ve loved for more time than I realised.”

Sam stayed silent, both hands around his drink. He watched Castiel with a downturned mouth. “I’m sorry,” Sam said gently. “If I knew where he was now, I’d tell you. I haven’t seen him or Charlie since dinner yesterday.”

Castiel finished his drink, holding the glass upturned so the foam sank onto his tongue. He swallowed, then set the base down to the table.

“Sam, may I ask you something?”

Sam hummed.

“How do you feel about Dean being a woman?”

“Some days, you mean?” Sam blinked, then shrugged a shoulder. “I got over it. And, to be honest, I wasn’t too surprised to begin with. Dean’s always been so irrepressibly macho, you know? Even as a kid. Mostly I accepted that was just how he was. Flowery wand aside. But, like, after I saw him with five girlfriends at once, deepening his voice on purpose, rejecting everything _remotely_ feminine for no obvious reason when I was around, then embracing it the moment he thought I wasn’t there to see him, I started to think he was overcompensating for something.” With a smile, Sam finished his drink too, and he slid it over to sit beside Castiel’s empty glass. “For a while after I realised he was into you, I thought the overcompensation was just because he was into men and didn’t feel like sharing that with me. But, uh... Guess it’s more than that.”

He stared at Castiel, then took a breath and asked, “What about you? How are you taking the change?”

Castiel had been hoping Sam would ask, since he had feelings he’d wanted to express to somebody for weeks. But now the question hung in the air like a song missing its catch. Castiel wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.

Sam reached over and patted Castiel’s velvet jacket sleeve. “Hey. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel said, though he wasn’t convinced it was true. “Ah...” His hand leapt up to wipe his lips. “Recently, since Dean told us about his... gender...”

Sam’s hand slid away, but it waited on the tablecloth, ready to offer comfort if needed.

Castiel swallowed, and turned in his seat to face Sam, forearms folded on the table top. “I’ve come to think about my own gender. I never considered it before. In the past I’ve thought about my sexuality, and concluded I’m demisexual.” Sam nodded, so Castiel went on, “I thought about that, but I didn’t think about my gender. I’m comfortable living as a man, I’m comfortable in this body...”

“But?”

“But I don’t think I _have_ a gender,” Castiel said, looking across at Sam. “I’m male but I’m not a _man_. I don’t feel any attachment to the idea of being a man or a woman. Or... anything.”

Sam adjusted his mask, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Is this because you read _Witch Weekly_? I know it’s a girly magazine but that doesn’t make you—”

“It’s not about that. It’s not about what I do, what I _don’t_ do, what I like or don’t like. I’m just...” He shrugged. “I’m genderless.”

Sam licked his lips thoughtfully, then he raised his eyebrows and sat back in his seat. “Uh. Wow.”

Castiel tilted his head, considering Sam’s tense posture. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“What?” Sam seemed startled. “Oh. No. I was just thinking... I have three close friends. One of them’s totally gay, my only sibling is bisexual and genderfluid, and in a relationship with you: a genderless entity of unknown origin. I was just wondering if I’m the only normal—” He inhaled suddenly, “Sorry, not _normal_ , I didn’t mean normal—”

“Cisgendered heterosexual,” Castiel said smugly.

“Sure,” Sam said, with a flustered grin. “That.” His smile danced away with the music, and he swallowed, watching a couple sway past the table. “Three weeks ago I thought Charlie was the odd one out. I mean, I figured you and Dean had a thing going on – I’ve thought that since our trip at Christmas – but it didn’t click in my brain that Dean wasn’t straight. I just thought he’d fallen in love with you by accident, or something.”

Castiel turned around and plucked two more butterbeers off a tray that floated past. He handed one to Sam, and they tapped their glasses together, drinking a sip in silence.

“Um,” Sam said, after a while. “Anyway. Thanks for telling me.”

Castiel blinked in acknowledgement. He took a sip of his drink, then swallowed, watching the dance go on.

There was so much positive energy in the room, but even as Castiel sat and absorbed it all, he couldn’t help the tickle of worry that he swallowed down along with the butterbeer foam.

Dean wasn’t here. Dean wasn’t coming.

He must’ve changed his mind about coming as a woman, that was all.

He can’t have changed his mind about coming as Castiel’s date... could he?

In a sullen daze, Castiel watched the dresses skimming the tiles, heeled shoes and bare feet kicked out from under hems. He watched purple fabric parade after gold, then red fading between white and black, and finally his eyes locked onto a dazzling green dress, a colour that made him smile. It was lost among twenty other colours, more young women and well-dressed young men, all their faces anonymous.

Of course, a mask didn’t keep some people from being recognisable. Castiel smiled as he spotted Mei, her floating chair spinning as she held out her hands to her friends, laughing as they danced in a circle. Castiel also saw Principal Moseley walking around the edge of the room and talking to students, a parchment in one hand and a quill in the other. Her purple ball gown was like an upturned tulip, sweeping the floor behind her.

Castiel saw Professor Moondoor dancing alone in the middle of the floor, her gold dress sleek and pretty, butterfly wings at her back. Castiel felt a pang of sadness, because Charlie wasn’t there to dance with her.

He watched Professor Moondoor for a while. Every moment made him feel more and more like they’d both been stood up.

“Cas?”

Castiel looked over at Sam. Sam smiled, and nodded towards Professor Moondoor. “Ask her to dance.”

Castiel lowered his head, shaking it.

“Go on,” Sam insisted. “Dean wouldn’t want you to waste your time waiting for him if he’s not going to show.”

Castiel wet his lips, looking up again. Professor Moondoor was doing some kind of performance dance, her golden wings fluttering. The other dancers had cleared a space around her so she didn’t hit them with her sweeping arms.

“I’ll hold your drink,” Sam said, smiling.

Castiel sighed. He did very much want to dance. He wouldn’t be cheating on Dean, because... well, it wasn’t like that. With a nod, he pushed his drink closer to Sam and he got up.

He walked on stiff legs through the crowd, stepping away from the hems of dresses and avoiding the passing touches of students. He heard a few people say hello, and he looked back, only to find they’d danced away again.

The music changed once more, and the waltz became a jaunty, upbeat tune, the Navajo influence even more outstanding than before. The band on stage stomped their feet in a beat, and the dancers shrieked and cheered in delight, speeding up their steps.

Castiel hastened through the crowd before he could be captured by the whirlpool, and he reached Professor Moondoor just as she sank down to the ground in a crouch, finishing her dance.

“Ex—Excuse me,” Castiel said.

Professor Moondoor looked up and stood, a bright smile on her dainty face. “Professor Goldkeeper! Fancy seeing you here.”

“Please, it’s Castiel. I— I noticed you were alone, and I, um. I was also alone. I thought perhaps we could be alone together.”

Castiel looked at the movement all around them, stepping closer to Professor Moondoor. She took his hand and began leading him in a dance before he could even ask. He let her spin him around.

“Doesn’t your girlfriend want to dance?” she asked.

“She’s not here, Professor,” Castiel said.

“Call me Gilda,” Professor Moondoor said. “I’m sorry to hear that, Castiel. If I’m to be your date for tonight, I have to warn you, I absolutely do _not_ dance unless we’re on a first-name basis.”

“Are you and Charlie on a first-name basis?” Castiel asked, watching his feet as Gilda began to square-dance with him.

“Charlie?” Gilda looked surprised, and her butterfly wings glimmered, seemingly in interest. “No, we’re not. Not really. Why?”

Castiel shook his head. “I’d hoped.”

“Hoped?” Gilda grinned. Below her golden mask, her lashes fluttered the way Dean’s did on witch days, whenever he wore his false lashes.

“I think Charlie likes you,” Castiel said. “I’m no expert, however. I could be wrong.”

Gilda smiled oddly, lifting both hands so her and Castiel made an arch over their heads. “Why would she like _me_?”

Castiel smiled back. “There was a time I asked myself the same question. She’s become one of my closest friends.”

“So as her friend, you would know, is that right?” Gilda tap-danced for a moment, then swept Castiel five steps back in a sudden foxtrot. “You’d know if she had a crush?”

“Well, I don’t know about a crush—”

“Did you see her?” Gilda asked.

“Charlie? No.”

“No, not Charlie, _her_.”

Gilda didn’t appear to be looking at anyone but Castiel, so he didn’t know who she meant.

“Suffice to say, my answer is probably no,” Castiel said, with some confusion.

“Use your eyes, would you? Three o’clock.”

Castiel glanced up at the clock. “It’s nine-twenty, not three.”

“No—” Gilda tutted. “Look to your left. In the green dress.”

Castiel looked, but Gilda grabbed his ear and made him look back at her. She tutted again. “You’re making it obvious. Here, I’ll turn us around— Look over my shoulder. Green dress with the poofy sleeves.”

Castiel scoured the crowd of moving students, tall and short, aged between eleven and eighteen. He saw teachers and he saw Principal Moseley again, standing at Sam’s table, speaking to him. But through all the movement and the bouncing feathers from people’s masks, Castiel finally spotted a flash of green.

He couldn’t see the woman’s face, as her mask was lavish and the rest of her face was covered by the bouncing crowd, but when spaces cut between the dancers, Castiel saw a swish of glittering green, and a snap of a corset tie hitting someone else. A leafy headpiece spun from the woman’s long hair, and when she turned, Castiel realised—

“She’s dancing with Charlie,” he said.

“Professor Bradbury is taken,” Gilda said stoically. “Perhaps you’re right about a crush, but I’m not going to poke my nose in where I’m not wanted.”

“Who is that woman?” Castiel asked, turning with Gilda, unable to take his eyes off the lady in the green dress. She had brown hair in soft, flowing curls, and every lock sparkled like gems were braided into it. When Castiel caught a flash of the woman’s wide smile, he saw her lips were painted an attractive pink.

“Nobody knows,” Gilda answered, quickly turning her head of dark, tight curls just so she could catch glimpses of the mystery woman. “I asked Moseley, but she just lifted up her parchment and asked me what I wanted to be introduced as when it’s time for individual dances.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m Madame Butterfly,” Gilda smirked. “None of us are ourselves tonight, and I love it.”

“The wings suit you,” Castiel smiled, twirling Gilda around.

“You look the same as ever,” Gilda replied. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed. You could’ve come with angel wings, then we would’ve matched.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t planning on dancing with you,” Castiel said.

Gilda laughed, taking Castiel’s bluntness in her stride. “Can’t say I was planning on dancing with you either,” she agreed, breaking apart from Castiel to do a jig of her own. “Between you and me, I’d rather have danced with Professor Bradbury over there. Or her date. They’re both scorching hot.”

Castiel looked over once more, intrigued by the woman in green. He didn’t recognise her at all, which didn’t make sense. Logic said she was Dean, but she wasn’t Dean. Charlie wouldn’t have showed up with a stranger, nor would a stranger have been allowed into the dance at all. They couldn’t have been a student. Whoever they were, they had to be staff, didn’t they?

“Castiel,” Gilda said, nudging Castiel. “This is a dance, you have to dance to be dancing.”

Castiel came to his senses, blinking at himself. “Oh...” His eyes drifted back to the woman. He felt an ache deep inside him, and he ignored Gilda for a moment longer, feeling too drawn to the stranger to pay attention. There was something about her movements, something rough yet graceful that almost _did_ remind Castiel of Dean...

“It can’t be,” Castiel said under his breath. “Dean looks nothing like that...”

“What?” Gilda stood in front of Castiel, staring at the woman in green over her shoulder. “What do you mean? Has our Deanie Weenie finally showed up?”

“It’s nothing,” Castiel said, though it was far from nothing. He thought of a lie quickly, and said, “I was just thinking Charlie’s dress is very handsome.”

Flips in his stomach became flips in his heart, and he began to dance with Gilda with excitement flowing in his veins, and he grinned as he danced, flinging Gilda into a fast-paced something-or-other, a dance without a name. He spun her and lifted her, and he paced them through the crowd. People moved out of their way, as they were too energetic. Gilda clearly loved the fresh energy; she laughed and let Castiel lead for the first time.

But it was short lived. Castiel and Gilda came to the place where Charlie danced with the mystery woman, and the song ended. The room stopped spinning, and cheers and laughter filled up the sweet-smelling hall. Castiel and Gilda had to turn and applaud the band along with everyone else, and only then did a new song begin.

This song was crooning and slow, and one of the drum players got up to sing.

Half the dancers trailed back to the tables, babbling voices filtering through the crowd. Gilda turned first, and she smiled at someone behind Castiel.

“You look amazing, Charlie,” Gilda said.

“Oh, thank you,” Charlie said. Blushing, she hastened to ask Gilda, “D’yawannadance?”

Gilda looked cautiously towards Charlie’s taller companion. “But what about...?”

“Hey, no, don’t worry about me,” Dean said, reaching to take Castiel’s hand. “I found my date.”

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes, and he was sure he was a heartbeat away from swooning. He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to recognise Dean in this body, in this outfit. It was not the pink he’d been expecting, but it was spectacular, as was his headpiece, his hair, and the mask—

His eyes were Dean’s eyes, nobody else’s.

“Charlie...” Castiel turned, but Charlie was already sneaking away, her hand in Gilda’s. A smirk leapt to Charlie’s face, and she lifted her wand, shooting a spell at Castiel’s clothes.

With a sparkle, Castiel’s waistcoat and jacket became green, pale like apples, sparkling like perfectly-hewn peridot. Everything else became a dark warm brown, like faded gold. He dazzled, like Dean dazzled. Together they were a tree, ripe green fruit bathed in sunset light.

Castiel looked up at Dean in awe. “You... You look so beautiful...”

“Wow, sound _more_ surprised, why don’t you,” Dean said, grinning.

“My God, Dean, I can’t... _believe_... Your voice is softer...” Castiel gaped at Dean’s mouth. His freckles were gone, and his mouth looked different. “Your freckles. What happened?”

“Dude, chill, I put some proper makeup on,” Dean laughed, taking Castiel’s hands and dragging him into a slow dance. “And Charlie did my hair.”

Castiel felt like his heartbeat was going to break his ribs. “I didn’t even recognise you...” He held Dean gently, carefully. He seemed so precious and so beautiful, Castiel didn’t feel worthy of holding him close.

Dean grinned, one soft hand caressing Castiel’s jaw. “You weren’t meant to.”

Castiel bit his lip, looking down. Dean’s breasts pushed at the top of his dress, gold trim embroidered into intricate leaves. “You look truly incredible.”

“You like those, huh? Trust me, nobody loves my boobs more than me,” Dean smiled.

A shaky smile lifted the corners of Castiel’s lips.

“Um. Cas – a hint?”

“Yes?”

“Ask me to dance.”

“Wh— Oh! Dean,” Castiel took Dean’s hand and stepped back, bowing low, then straightening. “My lady. Would you do me the honour of sharing this dance with me?”

Dean burst out laughing, taking Castiel’s hand and tugging it so Castiel held his lower back. “Hell yeah, Cas.” They began to dance, stomach-to-stomach, Castiel’s legs battling with Dean’s underskirts for every step.

Dean held Castiel’s eye, both hands clasped behind his neck. They swayed, and they twirled, and the other dancers became mere flecks of colour in this fantastic green world of Castiel’s.

Castiel danced as though he was in a trance, led through a dream by a magical fairy, a princess, someone impossible and yet every bit part of his life.

He was so completely and utterly in love with Dean, Castiel thought to himself.

_So_ in love.

Now, and every day.

Dean sank closer as the song played on. His cheek pressed against Castiel’s, and they held tight, Dean’s fingers stretching through the tufts of hair at the back of Castiel’s head.

“Were you waiting for me all this time?” Dean asked in a whisper. “Sitting alone?”

Castiel lowered his head, kissing Dean’s warm, bare shoulder. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Dean was quiet for a while. Castiel breathed in his jasmine scent, resting his nose against Dean’s neck, where the scent was strongest.

“I, uh,” Dean said. “I guess that was kind of a dick move on my part.”

“What was?”

“Waiting for you to find me in the crowd.”

Castiel moved his head back, meeting Dean’s eyes through the holes of their masks. “The way Prince Charming does in _Cinderella_?”

Dean lowered his chin, embarrassed.

Castiel grinned, holding Dean’s waist firmly, leading him in a sweeping circle. “Well, after a lifetime searching – waiting – now I’ve found you.” He smiled, and he kissed Dean’s temple. He felt Dean relax under his hands. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance, princess.”

Dean brought Castiel close, both arms draped around his shoulders, hands sinking into his hair. “You make a good prince.”

“Do I?”

Dean nodded, and the leaves on his headpiece tickled Castiel’s neck. Dean rested his cheek on Castiel’s again, and they danced like that. Castiel’s eyes were closed; he was sure Dean’s were closed too.

“You’re everything I always wanted,” Dean murmured. “And you’re everything I never knew I needed, besides.”

“I can make transforming potions, you mean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said eventually. “Potions are a neat bonus. But the rest of you is pretty rad too. Just sayin’.”

Castiel grinned. “I’m so lucky you’re mine, Dean.”

“Oh, yeah, you know that’s right,” Dean chuckled.

They danced to the end of the song, and when it ended, they kept dancing.

But then a new song began, and this one was fast enough that the dancers who’d sat down to rest all got up and ran to crowd the dance floor again. The space around Castiel shrank; breathing air became limited. Overwhelmed and not willing to stand for it, Castiel took Dean by the hand and led him out of the heaving struggle, and they went to the table where Sam was waiting.

Once free of the crowd’s pressure, Castiel exhaled and began to smile again.

Sam sat leaning forward, knees wide, hands turning around a glass. He looked up as Castiel approached with Dean in tow. Castiel smiled, seeing Sam’s mouth drop open.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Sam said, before his face split into a massive grin. “I saw you a couple times out there but— Dean. Oh my God, you look like Mom.”

“You don’t even remember Mom,” Dean said, taking Sam’s drink and downing it in one.

“Yeah, but I bet anything you’re the spitting image of her,” Sam said, sinking into his chair with one elbow hooked over the back. He gave his brother a slow, disbelieving up-and-down, shaking his head in wonder.

Dean and Castiel sat at the table, taking drinks off passing trays. While Castiel had been away, Sam had drunk Castiel’s butterbeer, but Castiel wasn’t surprised.

Sam still stared at Dean.

Dean glanced at Sam, then glanced the other way, half-rolling his eyes. “I got a booger up my nose or somethin’?”

Sam laughed abruptly, grinning at Dean. “For a girl in a dress that far outshines everyone else’s, you don’t act much like a lady.”

In response, Dean downed the rest of his butterbeer and belched loudly in Sam’s direction.

Sam smirked and looked away.

Castiel, smiling, slid his hand into Dean’s. “I think you wear it well.” More quietly, so Sam didn’t hear, he added, “Your movements are different. I can see how hard you’re trying.”

Dean’s eyes showed his vulnerability when Castiel met his gaze. Dean looked down quickly. “I wanna be all graceful and shit but I keep forgetting...”

“Good,” Castiel said. “Forget it all. Years ago you trained yourself to move more boldly to act like a man; now forget that. Don’t try to be a princess. Don’t try to be a prince acting like a princess. Just be yourself. Burp all you like, and giggle all you like. Wouldn’t you rather be authentic than perfect?”

Dean squeezed on Castiel’s hand. He squeezed so hard that Castiel realised his words had impacted Dean more meaningfully than he’d expected.

“Thanks,” Dean rasped, frowning.

Castiel responded by reaching to brush a lock of hair back from Dean’s flawless, blush-pink cheek. “This is your night, Dean.”

Dean snuffled a laugh. “What does that even mean?”

“You’ve wanted this for so long,” Castiel smiled. “A masquerade ball, a dress as beautiful as this. A prince...” He chuckled. “If I can do anything to make tonight go the way you always dreamed, tell me how. I’ll make it happen to the best of my ability.”

Dean smiled quietly for a while.

Then he scraped his chair closer to Castiel and he rested his head against Castiel’s shoulder. “Put your arms around me,” Dean sighed, and Castiel did. He also kissed Dean’s forehead, which made Dean smile.

They watched a few dances that way. Charlie and Gilda dropped by, out of breath. They said hi, then danced away in a flurry of butterfly wings. Castiel mentioned that he liked Charlie’s glitzy purple flapper dress, and Dean remarked that the dress had been borrowed from his own closet.

At that point, Sam got up and asked Sarah Blake for a dance. For a History of Magic Professor, Sarah was surprisingly fresh of heart. She danced in a spirited way, especially since Sam was the only one to invite her onto the dance floor. She was six years older than Sam and was engaged to a Muggle man who wasn’t here tonight, but as Sam had muttered before approaching her, that shouldn’t keep her from having fun tonight.

By eleven o’clock, Dean and Castiel had shared a handful of dances, both quick and slow, and one especially fun one where everyone in the hall held the waist or shoulders of the person in front and they wound through the tables, dancing and laughing and singing along to _All the Bright and Happy Wizards_. Castiel was fairly sure Dean was singing the mnemonic song for the Magical Table of Elements, but he kept such perfect time that Castiel couldn’t quite be sure.

At quarter past eleven, Dean and Castiel clapped along to the first dance for a student couple. As Moseley had announced on stage a minute prior, she’d written down everyone’s masquerade fantasy name, to be announced as each dance began. Every couple who’d signed up would get a chance to dance alone to a song of their choosing, while everyone else sat back and watched.

“I don’t see how that could be fun,” Castiel said under his breath, cringing as the students on the dance floor attempted an Irish jig together, completely out of sync. “All I see is Meryl and Dixon embarrassing themselves.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Cas,” Dean uttered. “I see Lady Meridyth and Lord Donghat showing off some crazy good talent.”

Castiel tipped his head, conceding the truth of that statement. “I just wouldn’t like to do it myself, that’s all.”

“Too bad,” Dean said, slapping Castiel’s knee and leaving his hand there. “I signed us up.”

“What?” Castiel squinted. “When?”

“When I first arrived,” Dean smiled, giving Castiel a big grin. “C’mon, dude, don’t be mad. It’s a _dream_ of mine to slow-dance in front of my brother, two hundred children and all of my co-workers.”

Castiel stared at Dean, sure he’d gone mad.

Dean burst out laughing, then had to hide his face under a hand, as thirty people turned to see who had laughed at Lady Meridyth’s awkward footwork.

When the crowd erupted in applause, the third-years took a bow and vacated the dance floor, and only then did Dean explain himself in hushed tones. “I just wanna be proud about what you ‘n me have, that’s all,” he whispered, glancing up as the lights dimmed and the next dancers flashed in the mirrors of a disco ball.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked.

“You know. _Out there_ ,” Dean shrugged, and his shoulder slipped out and back into his off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves. “I could never do that as a dude. Dance with you in front of people, I mean. I wouldn’t have the guts. But nobody here recognises me. I wanna dance with you, feelin’ totally secure that nobody will ever figure out who your mystery girlfriend is.”

“Oh, I get it. You want to embarrass me while staying anonymous yourself, is that it?”

“No,” Dean chuckled, whacking his painted nails against Castiel’s chest. “Well, okay, yeah. But not _just_ that.” He grinned at Castiel until Castiel bent his head forward, giving in.

“ _Hhhhh_ okay fine,” Castiel said. “So long as I get to pick the song.”

“Too late,” Dean smiled. “Princess picks the music, Prince Charming shuts his cakehole.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “So what do _I_ get to do?”

Dean leaned in to kiss Castiel on the nose. “Enjoy it.”

Castiel pulled a face at Dean, but Dean just snickered, then promptly snuggled up next to Castiel, kissing his chin, then his throat. Castiel kept an eye out to check nobody saw, but he was sure the amused mutters of students at tables behind them meant they were all getting an eyeful.

“Dean, there’s people watching,” Castiel whispered.

“Well, they can suck it,” Dean replied, kissing Castiel’s cheek, leaning so close that their masks bumped. “You wouldn’t _believe_ how long I’ve wanted to kiss you in front of people.”

“We’ve only been together three weeks.”

“So?” Dean grinned devilishly. “I’ve been fantasising about making out with you in your classroom for years.”

Castiel felt a flush creep under his cravat. “Years?”

“Years.”

Dean soon ceased his smothering display of affection, but replaced the kisses with cuddles. He slung both arms around Castiel’s neck and nuzzled his cheek. “Hmmm,” he sighed happily.

Castiel held Dean’s corseted waist and buried his face against his neck.

After a minute of thought, Castiel supposed he could understand the appeal of being obvious that he and Dean were in love. Maybe if everyone knew Castiel was in a romantic relationship, next year he wouldn’t get love notes from his students in every single class leading up to Valentine’s Day.

After five dances between the student couples, the dance floor was opened up to everyone again. Dean and Castiel danced together to Celestina Warbeck’s _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ , then to an obscure song by The Hobgoblins with nothing but screeching for lyrics. The kids seemed to love that, but Dean sneered more than he danced. “Not real music,” he muttered, leading Castiel off the dance floor and back to their seats.

Sarah and Sam sat down at their table too. Dean knew Sarah was staring at him, but Castiel noticed he avoided her eyes; perhaps worried she’d recognise him.

Soon another couple was announced: Queen Moseley and Sir Joshua D’Angel, Keeper of the Plants.

Castiel nudged Dean. “Look!”

The students whooped and whistled, cheering for their Principal and the Herbology professor she’d adored for years. Their dark figures swayed together, their clothes bright and the lights around them sparkling. Candles floated down from the ceiling and orbited around them like a slow-motion twister made of flickering yellow and white. Their song was one Castiel recognised, but not one he knew the words to.

Around Missouri and Joshua, the plants bloomed, the glitter falling from the walls beamed like sunlight, and the vines seemed to grow as everyone watched. The smell of the Fountain Room became even more glorious, and Castiel felt himself falling under its bewitching spell. He wanted to dance like that with Dean. He wanted everyone to understand how fate brought them together so perfectly.

Dean’s hand slid to hold Castiel’s, and he rocked to the music, a wistful smile on his lips.

Part-way through the dance, Castiel noticed a movement and glanced down to the table. Sarah had written a message on a napkin, and now slid it across to Dean.

_Hi, I’m Sarah. I teach History of Magic here. What’s your name? (You look beautiful!)_

Castiel saw the quill resting on the parchment, and he so dearly wanted to pick it up and write the truth. He wanted everyone to know the woman holding his hand was _Dean_. Dean Winchester, the boy with flowers on his wand and a potted lily in his bedroom. Dean Winchester, the one who was days away from teaching his first class to help children learn more efficiently. Dean Winchester, the smartest, kindest, most interesting person Castiel had ever had the good fortune of knowing.

But Castiel never had the chance to reach for the quill. Professor Moseley’s dance with Joshua was over and the hall filled with applause, louder and more intense than any applause before. Castiel and Dean had to break their hands apart to clap, and Castiel clapped hard, truly feeling the love in the room.

And even then, he didn’t have a moment spare to think about Sarah’s unanswered question. Professor Moseley got up onto the stage and said a grateful thanks, and then pulled up her parchment to read it.

“For our special midnight dance,” she announced, “we have two lovely people who will undoubtedly be taking the dancefloor by storm tonight. Prince Charming and Cinderella, it’s your night. Come on up here, sweethearts.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. The music started in a swoop of strong notes: a wooden flute, followed by a hard and catchy drum rhythm, thudding slow, doubled-up like a heartbeat. Castiel knew the song well, and he knew he and Dean had already missed their cue. Dean was out of his chair and pulling Castiel up too, laughing, his eyes shining with glee behind his mask. The musicians played the intro again flawlessly, giving them time to get to the floor.

In a flash of confidence, Castiel took Dean’s hand, to the sound of cheers and wolf whistles. It was no secret who Castiel was: everyone in the room knew him by his tousled dark hair and his waistcoat, though he rarely wore green. He walked as he always did, and he turned swiftly on his feet as he always did.

He took Dean by the hip and by the hand, and with a shared smile, they began their dance.

Slow, steady.

Tonight, Dean was a mystery to all who saw him. Even Castiel. He twinkled like a dew-brushed new leaf, his skin radiant, his hair falling in soft curls about his bosom. He moved against Castiel, engaged in the act of dancing the same way they engaged when they made love: their bodies synchronised, sharing breath, inching one way, then the other.

Dean tilted his head and spun out, arms wide. He flung himself back to Castiel, and Castiel laughed, taking him gently and holding him close. Dean hooked his hands behind Castiel’s head and crumpled his hair into his hands, a sensual and almost possessive touch. Castiel had never been toyed with like that in front of anyone, and he immediately decided he liked it.

Dean flirted with his eyes. He smiled crookedly, showing off for Castiel, and for the audience.

Most likely having been dumbfounded by Dean’s beauty until now, the band’s singer had forgotten he was meant to sing. He stood up suddenly, leaving his rattles behind. He sang the first words, warmed by his Diné accent; Castiel turned Dean on the spot.

_We have dreams, oh, you and I:_   
_We’re never hidden, my precious dove;_   
_That sparkle in your eyes, tonight, my love,_   
_There’s nothing more fantastic:_   
_Not the stars, not the moon, not the skies above..._

Castiel smiled, and he rested his cheek against Dean’s, singing along into his ear. “ _These dreams we cannot shaaare... There’s always magic; our enchantments in the air..._ ”

Dean sang back, their voices soft together, “ _We dance until the light is gone... But this love? This love lingers oh... oh... on..._ ”

Castiel kissed Dean’s cheek. “This is our song, isn’t it?”

“You bet it is,” Dean replied, grinning against Castiel’s skin. “ _Lay your heart down for me, baby; magic sway, magic sway... These are the years which pass away..._ ”

“Doesn’t it make you sad?” Castiel asked in a breath. “Time passing, lost moments?”

“Never,” Dean whispered back. “It’s about memories shared. Precious moments, Cas. Enjoy them, don’t think about when they’ll be gone.”

_I’ve wished for this for oh! so long,_   
_And I know that you have too;_   
_Adore that magic sparkle in your eyes,_   
_I see my love reflects back, true..._   
_Now let’s make believe, let’s live the dream_   
_For it’ll all be over soooon..._

Castiel peeked at the audience, who watched in a simmering silence. He saw movement and he heard whispers, but he knew everyone was held rapt, ever fascinated. Who was this beautiful woman dancing with the Potions teacher? Who knew he had a girlfriend? Aren’t they sweet together? Aren’t they gorgeous? Do you think they’re in love? They look like they’re in love. You can’t dance like that if you’re not in love.

_These are the years which pass away..._   
_Don’t let this sparkling moment go, my love,_   
_Let our magic sway, ma-a-agic sway..._

The whispers seemed to get louder, and Castiel peered over Dean’s shoulder to glare at his students. How dare they interrupt his moment with Dean? How dare they—

Castiel felt a prickle against his cheek.

He recoiled slowly, immediately worried he knew exactly what was happening. “Dean...”

Dean smiled lazily, his lipsticked smile curled up one pink cheek. “Hm?” he asked, biting his lip.

Castiel touched Dean’s bristly cheek. “Oh, no...”

Dean’s smile fell. “What?”

Castiel’s eyes darted to the giant clock. Midnight exactly. Time had run out, but the party hadn’t ended.

Dean’s hair was short now. It had fallen out, drifting to the floor. It slipped under Castiel’s shoe. “Oh, _no_ ,” Castiel whispered, as horrified as he knew Dean was. Everyone had seen. The whispers were at speaking volume now. The room was full of chatter.

“No...” Dean grasped his own cheeks, feeling the stubble. “No, no—” He looked down as his breasts were small again. He gripped his chest. “NO! Cas, _do_ something!”

Castiel reached for his wand but Dean’s shoulders were already widening, and his dress was straining at the seams.

Castiel pointed his wand at Dean’s chest, and with the intention to undo the change, he said, “Exsero.”

The spell did not undo the change. It made Dean’s mask fall off.

“Fucking _Latin_ ,” Castiel hissed. “Dean, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

It was too late for Dean to do anything. The last of the potion wore off, and he stood before Castiel the way he had twenty-five hours earlier. The headpiece from his hair fell to the floor, his dress now ripped at the shoulders and slumping halfway down his chest, his corset open at his back. He was left half-bare and trembling, mortified eyes staring straight at Castiel.

Castiel rushed to Dean and cradled his face to his chest in a last attempt to hide his shame from the audience, but Dean roared in despair and pushed Castiel away. He turned and ran from the dancefloor, limping in his too-small shoes. He tripped and one shoe flung away, tinkling across the tiles. It was made of glass.

Dean fled the room in the shreds of his dress, gone in a moment.

The students and the teachers clamoured in excited conversation, and music played on. Castiel heard the baffled tone in the singer’s voice, but he sang his words as he was meant to.

_Don’t let this moment pass..._   
_Don’t let this moment go, my love,_   
_For we may never get... it... baaaaack._

The song ended, and there was no applause. The band didn’t even play the finishing notes, they just stopped.

Castiel left the Fountain Room, running after Dean. One glass slipper was cradled carefully in his hand.

  
**☆**  
  



	20. Phoenix Quartet

Castiel used a variation on a Four-Point Spell to find Dean. His wand spun on his palm, and Castiel chased the direction of its tip. He turned down corridors and followed the broken moonlight until he came to a door. He stood before the door and he lowered his wand.

In front of the door was a broken glass shoe.

As Castiel examined the damage, he realised the pieces were spread like the shoe had been thrown against the door, then swept away when the door was opened.

A core-deep ache of sadness came over Castiel. He lifted his wand again, and he uttered, “Reparo.” The broken shoe re-formed on the tiles in front of the door, glinting in the moonlight through the enchanted ceiling.

Castiel slid his wand back into his shirt sleeve, then bent to pick up the shoe. He now held one glass shoe in each hand. He moved them both to his right hand, and held them by the tips of two fingers, dangling.

He looked at the door before him. Beyond this door was the opening to the rope bridge, the bridge which led to the Astronomy tower. It was the furthest point from the heart of the school, as far away from the Fountain Room as Dean could’ve gone as he fled.

Swallowing once, Castiel took his mask off, curling up the feather, then tucked the whole thing into the inside pocket of his blazer. He moved to the door and pulled it open. The worn base of the wood skimmed softly over tiles, pushing grains of sand up against the clay wall behind.

Castiel stepped into the moonlight, his face meeting with a hint of a cold breeze. He could smell the desert, its bitter, settling dust caught upon eddies of the wind.

Castiel closed the door behind him and walked to the edge of the stone balcony. He lowered the shoes to the stone barrier, their transparent toes facing the moon. They clinked as they touched down. Castiel could see all the way through them to the stone below. He let go of the shoes, and he rested both hands on the barrier.

He looked down upon the quarry. Its usual red colouring was washed out in blue. Faintly, as though coming from another world, Castiel could still hear the music from the party.

Castiel turned his head at the sound of a sniffle.

On the right side of the balcony, where the stone opened up to the rope bridge, Dean sat leaning against the side with his back to Castiel, his knees folded to his chest, his arms around what was left of his dress. It no longer looked fabulous or spectacular. It was ripped at the shoulders, at the waist, and the ties of Dean’s corset had pulled apart and snapped, holding on only by threads.

Dean looked back over his shoulder to see Castiel. His eyes glistened, his face pale, his makeup running with tears. Castiel went to him. He knelt beside Dean, not touching him. Castiel’s heart felt weighed down. He shared Dean’s pain in silence.

“I thought it was perfect,” Dean said. His voice was gruff again, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Up until it all fell apart, it was perfect.”

Castiel gently put his hand on Dean’s exposed back. Dean leaned in to the touch. He wiped mascara from his cheek, but it only smeared.

Castiel sighed, sitting more comfortably beside Dean, legs stretched down the gentle curve of the rope bridge ahead. Softly, he reached to lift away a line of fake eyelashes that was peeling off Dean’s eyelid.

“It was my own fault,” Dean said, sniffing as he took off the other line of eyelashes. “You warned me not to take the potion too soon. I was just... God, so _impatient_. So many years waiting, and I couldn’t even wait an extra half-hour.” He held both lashes his hand, then blew them away like dandelion seeds. The wind carried them off, and they fluttered away, two tiny black bats, twirling until they were gone.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “You don’t know how much I wish I could change what happened.”

Dean licked his lips, gazing up at the stars. “Yeah.”

“I should’ve given you an exact time to take the potion,” Castiel said quietly. “I should’ve said wait a full hour after I left.”

His hand slid to hold Dean’s, and Dean squeezed, locking their fingers together.

Dean smiled, rocking his shoulder against Castiel’s. “‘S not your fault. C’mon, man. For twenty-five hours of my life, I felt like all my wishes came _true_. Forget what happened back there. Those hours were worth it for me. I had fun with Charlie. She Transfigured the dress, and she did my hair five different ways before I could decide. We stayed up late, just talking. Laughing, eating, sharing porn and books. It was so different... We did that when I was a dude, but I dunno, there was something special about being sisters. I can borrow all her books and all her music, but now I can borrow her clothes, too.”

Castiel lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of Dean’s. “You’ll want some more potion, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Dean huffed. “But, uh... not tonight. I actually think today’s gonna be a wizard day.”

“It changes at midnight?”

“No.” Dean stared forward, looking at nothing in particular. “It just changes. Or maybe I just feel weird in a dress because the dress is ripped to hell.”

“I can fix that,” Castiel said, sliding his wand out of his sleeve.

“Give me somethin’ dapper,” Dean requested, smirking. “Silk shirt, grey pants.”

Castiel frowned as he concentrated, struggling to imagine the frilly edges of the dress morphing into something handsome. When he supposed he had the right thing in mind, he aimed the wand at Dean and uttered, “ _Mutare Vestibus_.”

Dean grinned, and together he and Castiel watched the shreds of fabric re-stitch, forming over Dean’s torso in the shape of a thin shirt. The crinkled fabric draped over his legs became darker, and separated into pants while it curled around his legs, all the way to his ankles.

Dean tucked his new shirt into his pants, beaming. “Knew you didn’t suck at Latin spells.”

Castiel rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know what happened back on the dancefloor.”

“I do,” Dean smiled. “ _Exsero_ : to thrust out. You tried to put my boobs back, but you got the other meaning. To make bare, to uncover. And my mask fell off.” Dean nudged Castiel with his elbow. “If you’d been coming to my Charms classes the way I’ve been coming to your Potions classes, you would’ve known how to control which meaning you go for.”

Castiel flicked his eyes upward.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, asshat,” Dean grinned, bumping his side against Castiel’s. “Come on. Everyone’s at the dance, so we’ve got a whole castle to ourselves. Let’s do something worthwhile.”

“Like what?”

“You choose.” Dean got to his feet, holding one hand down for Castiel to take. “It’s your night, now.”

“My night,” Castiel repeated, pushing into Dean’s space as he stood. “What does that even mean?”

Dean grinned, wiping away the last of his dried tears. “What wish have you always had? There’s gotta be something.”

Castiel took Dean’s hand, then looked away, instead turning his eyes towards the Astronomy tower. “Did you know, when Charlie first told me I was autistic, she and I were up there? We’d only just met.”

Dean looked ahead along the rope ladder, which went on for a long way, then veered left and ended at the tower, its pointy witch-hat roof covering a glowing ember of warm light.

Castiel took a step along the rope ladder, one shoe on the old, firm wood. Dean followed in bare feet, and they began a slow stroll down the slope. It was barely a slope at all, and it was barely a rope bridge; every plank was held up by magic, so the wobble under their weight was close to unnoticeable.

“You know I wouldn’t want you any other way, right?” Dean asked, his voice soft in the night air. Castiel looked at him, and Dean looked back, completely earnest. “I mean it. Don’t ever change.”

“How can you ask me not to change?” Castiel asked, frowning at Dean. He tried to stay gentle; he knew this was no time for an argument. “How can you beg that of me, despite making changes to yourself which you’ve craved all your life? I didn’t just accept your change, Dean, I helped you.”

Dean was quiet for a while. Their hands stayed steady within each other’s grip. They reached the first platform in the bridge, and began another slope down.

Dean looked ahead, taking a breath. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I’m being selfish.”

“You are,” Castiel smiled.

“But there’s a big difference, Cas. There’s a world of contrast between me taking a potion to become a woman, and you taking a potion to erase your autism.” Dean met Castiel’s eyes, imploring him to understand something Castiel did not yet understand.

“How? How is it different?”

“I know who I am,” Dean said. “ _In_ side. I’ve known since I was a teenager. All I want to do is change the outside. Give the car a new paint job, say. It’s temporary. It’ll wash off in the rain. Even if I _wanted_ it to be permanent, it would still be cosmetic. But you, you wanna rip out your wiring, convert the fuel to petrol and replace the leather seats with couches. It’s not gonna work, and it _shouldn’t_ work. Imagine the Impala looking like she always does, but running on an engine out of someone else’s car.”

“I’m not trying to ‘change’ my ‘engine’,” Castiel said, waggling his fingers in air quotes. “I just want my ‘engine’ to run ‘better’, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Dean said, nodding slowly. “Okay, I get that. You don’t want things to be so difficult to deal with all the time. But what makes it all so difficult? What makes you think your autistic traits are _bad_?”

“They—” Castiel spread his hands. “They just are. It’s hard to talk to people. It’s _frustrating_. Everything I feel is _twice_ what you feel. My energy is allocated in a completely different way to yours. You don’t know the utter _volume_ of what is happening in my head and body, _all_ of the time.”

“Alright.” Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand, leading him forward. “I’ll admit I don’t get it, not completely. But that’s half the problem right there. Your struggle ain’t on you. It’s on everyone else. It shouldn’t be up to you to figure out what people mean when they talk, it’s up to them – it’s up to _me_ – to be clear about it. Right?”

Castiel felt fretful, and unsure. He didn’t know what to say.

“Cas—” Dean sighed. “Look, your brain... Compared to my brain, or Charlie’s, or Sam’s – it’s not backwards, or wrong, it’s just _different_. Your neurons are wired a certain way. Social aspects, sensory aspects, the way you learn... You act that way and think and perceive life that way _because_ you’re autistic. It’s so much _more_ than loud noises bothering you, or you not understanding weird Muggle phrases until I explain them. It goes deeper than all the stuff that annoys you. It’s the way you find joy, too, y’know?”

When Castiel still couldn’t find the words to respond, Dean turned his gaze towards the tower as they approached. “You like eating ice cream, Cas. Why? Because it’s cold and it barely has a texture. It’s the way you dress, in soft waistcoats and velvet, and a cravat around your neck. Always the same thing every day. You stand too close to me – you always have, even when we first met. And that charm you added to the blanket on your bed, making it heavy. The way all your soaps are lined up in the shower—”

“That’s for efficiency.”

“ _Exactly_. You’re efficient. You found so many special spells to make your life easier. You speak honestly, you trust people easily, you love Potions so much you shut yourself off from other things so you can enjoy it. And you hate being told you have to stop and do something else.”

Castiel stared.

Dean gave a small smile, pulling to a halt on a platform in the rope bridge. He turned to touch Castiel’s chest, sliding his hand up to cup his neck. “It’s about you keeping your wand in your sleeve so you can hold it and stim without anyone seeing. It’s the way you talk in monotone! You rarely raise your voice unless you’re shouting my name. That’s not even mentioning how you speak so damn formal all the time – and when you use slang, it’s like a big deal, it never just flows off the tongue like it does for other people. It’s the way you do _air quotes_ wrong. Down to the little details. It’s everything about you. It’s no wonder your ‘cure’ never worked, Cas – you were trying to erase, like, ninety percent of your freaking personality.”

Dean went on: “The muffling charms, the weighted blanket, the wand stims – _those_ are your vials of magic pink potion. That’s the everyday magic you use to make yourself feel comfortable in your own skin, and make being around friends not seem so tough when you’re havin’ an off day. That’s how you make your ‘engine’ run ‘better’. It’s a thing to help you cope with an uncomfortable feeling. But making a potion that changes who you _are_ , inside, forever—? Cas, that’s not the same as what I wanted for myself. It’s not the same at all.”

Dean seemed to sense Castiel’s inability to process a meaning in all of this, because he glanced down, then leapt into a real conclusion: “Look, all I’m saying is, you don’t seem to realise _how much_ of what you do, what you enjoy, the way you talk to me... it’s all because you’re autistic. It’s not just a disorder, Cas. It’s who you are. It’s part of you. I respect you for it – I _revere_ you for it.” Dean gulped, and in a soft breath, he finished, “I love you for it. Okay? I said it. I love you.

“I love you exactly how you are, and if shit’s difficult for you like this, I wanna _help_ you. Help you find ways to cope, and deal, and find some kind of solution that makes you happy. I wanna change how the situation feels, or how people around you react to you, and people like you – not change _you_. And anyone who’s really on your side would do the same.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“Cas?”

“Ahhh... hm...” Castiel had to swallow, blinking as he examined the platform of the rope bridge under his shoes. His heart felt like it was squeezing, but, in a somewhat ludicrous fashion, it also seemed to be swelling, like his heartbeat had taken over him. All too quickly, he felt warm all over. He wondered if he was trembling, out of excitement or awareness of the night-time chill against his too-hot skin.

“Hey.” Dean ducked his head, trying to meet Castiel’s downturned eyes. “Cas, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Castiel rasped, his mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, I’m...” He blinked and squinted and frowned, then looked Dean in the eye. “Thank... you?”

Dean grinned, his teeth shining with blue light. “For what?”

“For... having that much faith,” Castiel said. His shoulders slumped, and he turned to take a few more steps along the bridge. Dean followed. “I suppose I’ve always just _managed_. I tell myself I accept the way I am, but I still treat my behaviour like it’s something to _put up with_ , something I could find a way to get over eventually.”

“You never realised someone could love you for those same things?”

Castiel met Dean’s curious eyes, and nodded.

Dean smirked. “I figured that.” He took Castiel’s hand, and they came to another platform. They were most of the way to the turning in the bridge now.

“I always hoped I could be normal,” Castiel said.

“What’s normal to you?”

Castiel pushed his lips together in a facial shrug. “Like you. Socially confident, good with casual speech, able to eat anything. Loud, messy—”

“Who you callin’ messy?”

“You leave the toilet seat down,” Castiel complained.

“I’m a lady!” Dean laughed, shoving Castiel’s shoulder.

They chuckled together, soft little noises. They carried on walking, and their amused hums faded out.

“Actually...” Dean grinned, tilting his head thoughtfully, “I think you’d probably find you and me aren’t too different at heart. At the very least, we share a few traits. I hate sticky things about the same. Germs... Eugh.”

Castiel chuckled. “I _thought_ it was you who pasted hygiene posters all over the school kitchens.”

“I just wanted to be sure the house elves always washed their hands, that’s all,” Dean said with wide eyes, one hand up in surrender. “If I can protect the kids from danger, I will. And if that includes defending their food from armies of invading germs, so be it.”

Castiel snorted, and beamed happily when he saw Dean grinning.

“But really,” Dean said, wandering a few inches closer to Castiel, leading them left at the turn in the bridge, “do you really wanna be like me? I’m screwed up, man.”

“If I could be the average of you, Sam and Charlie, I would be content,” Castiel replied. “More than content, even.”

“You kind of already are, you know,” Dean mumbled.

“Hm?”

“You never really fit into Zunbyrd house,” Dean said. “You’re all about freedom, sure, but not freedom the way others define it. Not how Charlie defines it. And you’re not a born-and-bred Jinstem, either, or else you’d have been in Jinstem with me. And Qurdruk— I mean, Sam fits Qurdruk to a tee – he wants to understand everything. He’s the one who gave me a stack of books on autism. Can’t say I read them all, but I read a few.”

“I fail to see how explaining all the ways I’m _not_ like you is proving your point.”

“I’m getting to it,” Dean tutted. “What I’m saying is, you don’t fit any one house. But the rest of us do. You’re like, the fourth house. The fourth house we don’t have. You got a little bit of all of us in you. Sam’s passion for his subject. His drive to be great, to succeed. You got Charlie’s kindness and empathy, and that – what is that? – the internal fire. Mine too, I guess, not to talk myself up...” Dean smiled shyly. “Uh.”

“I have your intelligence, and your patience,” Castiel said. He squeezed Dean’s hand, glad to see him look surprised. “I wasn’t patient when I was younger. You taught me patience. And loyalty. Every day you sat with me, watching me try and fail to make my potion. I loved you for that at the time, though I never recognised it until later. I still do. Love you, I mean.”

Dean gave a soft smile, eyes down to see where he was walking. The slope under their feet was rising again, coming to the penultimate platform before the tower.

Castiel gazed ahead at the Astronomy tower, watching its black, crooked shape blot out the moonlight. Now his face was bathed in darkness, Castiel could see the light inside the tower glowing brightly, like flames. They were not flames: they were the phoenixes, illuminated for the night. Each bird only glowed faintly, but when over a hundred of them roosted together in their alcoves, their combined light made up a beacon of warm invitation.

Hands joined, Dean and Castiel stepped together onto the terracotta tiles of the tower. Over the day the tiles had collected the sun’s heat, and now it released, bleeding through the soles of Castiel’s shoes.

“Take your shoes off,” Dean urged, looking down at his feet. “Oh my God, this feels amazing. It’s so much better on bare skin.”

Letting go of Dean’s hand, Castiel bent his right knee to rest his ankle against his left thigh, and he unlaced his shoe, then pulled off his sock. He set his foot down—

“Oh,” Castiel breathed. Heat seeped into him from below, and it was as though all the furnace-hot hearts of the birds who watched them now burned inside Castiel’s body. It was a comforting, lively feeling.

“And the other one,” Dean said, kicking Castiel’s shoe aside. “You get a floor like this, you gotta dance.”

“Dance?” Castiel repeated.

“As I remember it, we didn’t get to finish,” Dean said, striding out into the middle of the Astronomy tower, arms spread. His green silk sleeves hung down in soft inches of fabric, his shoulders magnificent and his movements graceful like a swan’s. Far to his left was the giant telescope peeking out through the quarter-open roof of the tower, and to the right, and all around, red and yellow and orange birds stretched from their sleeping positions in their private wall alcoves, curious black eyes peering down from on high to watch Dean twirl alone.

As if urging Castiel to join Dean, a phoenix trilled an encouraging note, lifting and falling like _Go on!_

Castiel went to Dean, catching him by his waist from behind. Dean jumped, and they both laughed. Dean turned in Castiel’s arms and stretched both hands around his neck, their middles pressed together. Without shoes they were the same height, and their noses almost touched.

A phoenix fluttered out from its alcove, flying in a swift arc to perch behind Castiel. Castiel looked back at it. Its brown talons curled around the wrought iron barrier separating the tower’s huge glassless window from the quarry far below. Behind the phoenix, stars twinkled against a perfect navy-blue sky. Castiel watched the bird glow brighter, its core turning yellow when he met the magical creature’s eyes.

“What’s it doing?” Dean asked.

The phoenix answered before Castiel could reply: it opened its black beak and sang a note. It was a long and melodious note, somehow changing pitch without being obvious about it.

“I believe it’s singing,” Castiel answered.

A second phoenix flew down to perch beside the first, and without any ado, it also opened its beak and sang.

The second phoenix’s song was different. Yet, it matched the rhythm of the first; they harmonised in places, then moved apart in pitch.

“Did you know they could do that?” Dean asked, breathless. “Sing together?”

“Absolutely not,” Castiel said. “Although I can’t say I’m surprised. They’re incredibly clever creatures.”

A third and a fourth phoenix perched either side of the first two, and when they began with, respectively, a low note and a high note, Dean laughed.

“There’s a freakin’ phoenix barbershop quartet singing us a midnight serenade, Cas.”

“I feel as though we ought to take advantage of this particular miracle,” Castiel said, grasping Dean’s waist with one hand, reaching up to his neck and taking his fingers in the other. “Would you care to dance, my prince?”

Dean’s eyes shone like the stars all landed there by accident. “ _Would_ I.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Does that mean yes?”

Dean smirked and stepped up close, breathing against Castiel’s lips. “It means _hell_ yes.”

Castiel stepped forward, Dean stepped back, and the dance began.

A regular phoenix song was something known as a _lament_ ; it was meant to be a song of sorrow, a heartbreaking cry. A swan song. But what Dean and Castiel danced to now – what they twirled to and laughed as they did – it was the farthest from sorrowful as it was possible for a sound to be. This was joy in the form of music. The harmonies were radiant, like sunshine and true, genuine smiles. This was not a song to be pressed on a record and sold to the masses, nor was it the kind of waltz that a hundred, or even a dozen people could dance to.

This was a song for Dean and Castiel, nobody else.

Nobody else heard it, nor would anyone else _ever_ hear it.

It was just them.

Castiel lifted Dean by the waist in a hop; Dean threw his head back and laughed, hands tangled in Castiel’s hair. He dropped onto Castiel’s feet and their toes overlapped, then stepped back: upon the hot tiles they spun, breaking apart to let Dean float away like a spinning top, only to be pulled back on some invisible string.

Neither led the dance. They followed and they guided, and they took each other’s hands and raised them to turn the other. Castiel nearly tripped when Dean tried to spin him, but Dean was quick to catch him, bending him into the fall until Castiel felt his back click, relieving a tension he hadn’t noticed building up. They laughed again, and again, enraptured by each other’s happiness.

Their feet skipped and skimmed and stomped, bouncing past each other, hands clapping, holding on, arms raised. They took each other by the waist and paced in a circle, and they gazed at each other for so long they forgot there was a world around them.

The music of the birds became part of their souls, in a way. Phoenixes had a habit of doing that. Legends spoke of their songs striking fear into the hearts of the evil, and lighting the fires of courage in the good.

Dean and Castiel danced until their feet were as hot as the floor, and they could no longer feel it under them. They were floating now. Floating in body and spirit, like sparkling, sparkling ghosts.

The phoenix song swelled to a crescendo. It was no mere quartet singing now; oh, no. There were one hundred and forty-two phoenixes roosting in the tower that night, and every one of them had a note or two to sing, wanting to add their melody to the common chorale. What was once a simple enough tune soon became a symphony, an orchestra of rich, glorious notes.

Every sound echoed through the tower the way it might in a cathedral; even the open side of the tower and the irregular shapes of the walls could not let such magic escape. It all had to stay here, it had to be kept safe.

These noises were _precious_.

As Castiel watched Dean’s face, he saw that his smile could not be maintained. The song was too beautiful, and the night had gone on so long. To dance like this was exhausting, and Dean was left frail by it. It showed in his expression. His eyes glimmered with tears of elation, while his mouth pulled into a half-smile, struggling to avoid a sob.

“I know,” Castiel said under his breath, holding Dean’s waist, simmering their dance down to rock in place, weight shifting from left to right. Empathy for Dean mingled with Castiel’s own overwhelmed state, and he grinned at Dean, knowing his mouth turned down at the corners. “It’s all right, Dean, I know...”

Dean let a tear fall, managing a grin at last. He sank against Castiel’s chest, sniffing once. He kissed Castiel gently, wetly, just against the side of his lips.

Castiel turned his head and kissed back, smiling as he felt a tear of his own warming Dean’s cheek. His eyes closed completely, and two more tears flowed from him.

Dean breathed shakily as he broke the kiss. “Cas... I love you,” he whispered, fingers gripping the back of Castiel’s neck.

Castiel opened his eyes, peering in wonder into the peridot-green stare which met his gaze. “And I love you, Dean,” he replied. “So very much.” He kissed Dean’s mouth, grinning and biting his lip as he felt Dean’s muffled laugh. “Hmm-hmm!”

They nuzzled each other’s cheeks and shared a dozen more kisses, still swaying in place. Castiel was barely conscious of their dance – but the music?

Oh, the music.

The phoenixes’ songs played on.

  
**☆**  
  



	21. The Tongue Thing

**{ PART VII }  
**

Castiel woke to a soft, wet kiss on his thigh. He blinked, but his eyes didn’t want to open. “Mmmh?”

Dean chuckled, stroking Castiel’s knee. “Mornin’, sleepyhead.” He kissed Castiel’s inner thigh again. His lips were soft and his jaw was hairless; the potion he drank yesterday hadn’t worn off yet.

Castiel groaned lazily, stretching out in his bed. The sheets were cool where his feet slid, but he found the warm patch of the bed where Dean had lain before.

Dean licked the groove between Castiel’s thigh and perineum, and Castiel shuddered, tipping his hips up into the warmth of Dean’s mouth.

Dean kissed and nibbled, and his lips parted against Castiel’s scrotum, but he only mouthed and nosed at it briefly before kissing his way up to Castiel’s hips.

“Mnn,” Castiel murmured in complaint.

“Shh,” Dean whispered, kissing Castiel’s navel, then his stomach. “Me first.”

Castiel turned his face of the pillow and rubbed sleep out of his eyes, then looked down his chest at Dean.

Dean lifted his head. His green eyes sparkled with morning light, his freckles as bold and alluring as ever. He curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled his long, reddish-brown hair around to one side, where it tumbled down to tickle at Castiel’s belly. Dean smiled, gently pressing his top teeth to his swollen pink lip. “I’m gonna change back in a minute,” he said softly. “I wanna feel it happen while your tongue’s doing that thing.”

Castiel set a hand behind his head and raised an eyebrow. “Which ‘thing’ would that be?”

“Y’know,” Dean said, lowering his eyes, bashful. “Suck me off, or whatever.”

When he looked up, he was blushing, his eyes dark despite the Sunday morning sunlight that blazed across his narrow shoulders, brightening his face.

Castiel felt a tingle in his core, the first real stirrings of arousal. He became startlingly aware of his erection trapped between his body and Dean’s vulva, as Dean gyrated on top of him, and Castiel cried out, eyes shutting in sudden pleasure. Dean was hot and squishy and _wet_.

Dean hummed an excited noise, surging forward to kiss Castiel’s neck. He kept moving his hips as he nuzzled Castiel’s throat, making Castiel’s erection thump tender flesh, too eager.

“Now, Cas,” Dean uttered, fingers curling into Castiel’s hair. “Need you _right_ now. It’s almost eleven-fifteen.”

“Ah— Alright,” Castiel gasped out, hands moving to hold Dean’s curvy waist. Dean squirmed, _pushing_ his vulva against Castiel’s cock. He didn’t penetrate himself, as the angle was wrong, but Castiel felt a flush of heat under both of their skin.

“Flip me,” Dean whispered. “Make my boobs jiggle.”

Castiel laughed, rolling his eyes. “Okay, Dean,” he said. “Just—” He looked to the nightstand and reached for his wand. “Aguamenti.” He filled the empty glass beside his head, then set down his wand and sat up part-way to drink. He guzzled half the glass before Dean looked at it wantingly, and Castiel grinned, offering the tipped rim to Dean.

Castiel set his fingers upon Dean’s slender chin and watched him close his eyes. They shared a peaceful moment: Dean surrendered his breath, allowing Castiel to help him drink. Dean drained the glass, and Castiel put it back down.

Water glistened on Dean’s chin. Castiel leaned up to kiss it off, every droplet cool and sweet on the seam of his lips.

Before Dean was expecting it, Castiel grabbed him and threw him to the bed, making Dean yelp, then giggle as his breasts sank into him, their fatty tissue distributed across his chest. Castiel sighed, kissing Dean’s neck, then his collarbone, then his breasts.

“Nipples,” Dean whispered.

“Mm gettin’ to it,” Castiel murmured, kissing and smooching his way to the hard, dark points of Dean’s breasts. He took one into his mouth, running the wrinkled nub under his tongue. Dean shivered, letting out a low moan.

Still sucking Dean’s nipple, Castiel slunk a hand down between Dean’s legs and pressed his fingers to the wet groove between his thighs. His clit was engorged, wet with fluid. Castiel slicked up his fingers and rubbed his forefinger and middle finger against the most sensitive folds of Dean’s vulva, leaving his thumb free to press and massage Dean’s clit.

Dean keened, frowning as his head tipped back into Castiel’s pillow. “Yes,” he breathed. “ _Fuck_ , Cas...”

“It’s eleven-sixteen,” Castiel said, glancing at the clock. “How long do you have?”

“A mmm...” Dean gasped. “A minute! Maybe l-le-lesssss-aaah...”

Castiel grinned, sucking hard on Dean’s nipple one last time. He peppered Dean’s stomach with kisses, lowering his head. He then slid back in the bed until he was kneeling at its end, all the covers piled up in waves around him. He kissed Dean’s pubic bone, enjoying the whimper Dean gave.

“Lick me,” Dean pleaded. “I— I want your tongue...”

“I’ve got you,” Castiel promised, sliding his hand away from Dean’s genitals. He gripped the tops of Dean’s thighs, pushing them apart. Dean moved willingly, presenting himself to Castiel. Castiel watched Dean’s face, seeing him bite his lip, fingers clenched into the locks of his hair. It wouldn’t be long before that hair was gone.

With one more kiss to Dean’s pubic hair, Castiel lowered his nose and mouth to hover before Dean’s vulva, mouth open to breath softly over the pinky-red flesh.

“Gaaah...” Dean chuckled. “Shit, Cas, I’m so wet right now.”

“You’re – telling me,” Castiel mumbled, lapping at the fluid. After a whole night of tasting this over and over, he thought he’d have become accustomed to the flavour, but it still stung his senses, much to his interest. It was such a different flavour to semen or pre-ejaculate; this was tangy – and sort of floral. It was different to last night. Dean must’ve taken a shower while Castiel had been asleep.

“Go inside,” Dean rasped, angling his hips to guide Castiel. “Put your tongue in me. Quick!”

They didn’t have long to enjoy it: Castiel penetrated Dean with the tip of his tongue, wriggling fast to feel the thick, hot walls of his vagina before pulling out. Castiel immediately sealed his lips around Dean’s clit, sucking it into his mouth, tongue lapping at the surrounding area in a last attempt to pleasure Dean before he turned back.

“It’s happening,” Dean gasped, one hand shooting down to grip Castiel’s hair. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop, Cas.”

Castiel kept his eyes open, watching Dean. Dean lifted his torso up on a bent elbow, and together they watched as his breasts shrank, his shoulders widened, his neck rippled with muscle out of nowhere. His hair shattered and fell in soft curls across the pillow, limp pieces dangling off Dean’s shoulders. Castiel’s hands on Dean’s thighs observed the change through touch: he grew bigger and taller; his legs pushed against Castiel’s head on either side now.

Castiel kept on sucking, his gentle mouth forced wider as Dean’s clit grew harder, thicker, longer and more curved. Castiel met Dean’s eye, and he felt a fizz of Dean’s sexual energy flow into him. Castiel was now sucking on Dean’s penis, head bobbing to gulp down as much of the organ as he could.

“Mmmhh,” Dean moaned, lips barely parted. He watched Castiel with desperate eyes. “I’m gonna come,” he breathed, eyelashes fluttering as he looked between Castiel’s eyes and his wide-stretched mouth. “Cas, I’m gonna come.”

“Mm,” Castiel hummed, assuring Dean that was okay. He was ready.

Dean shut his eyes and smiled, rocking into Castiel’s mouth. He let himself enjoy the attention, purring out tiny, happy sounds. When the pressure became overwhelming, he flopped back to the pillow and squirmed in place, his breath irregular, his limbs becoming tense and relaxed in sudden spasms. “Ouhh,” he groaned. “Cas... Cas...”

Castiel moaned too, shutting his eyes as he swallowed a small mouthful of pre-come. Whenever Dean got this affected by physical arousal, Castiel felt himself taken over by a mirrored pleasure, hot and cold and tense all over, his cock thick and painfully hard between his legs. Just the thought of Dean’s moans could be enough to arouse him. And the thought of Dean coming into Castiel’s mouth—

Dean hissed as he came, both hands clamped around Castiel’s head, not wanting to let him escape. He spurted warm ejaculate onto the back of Castiel’s tongue, splashing his throat. Castiel tried to cough it out, but Dean was still in his mouth and all he could do was swallow. He gulped, moaning as he did. He gulped again, because Dean was still coming. The suction of Castiel’s gulps seemed to be pulling more semen from him. When Dean shuddered and sank into the mattress, completely spent, only then did Castiel feel the last droplet slide from Dean’s softening cock.

Dean whined, his eyes closed. Castiel smiled as he slunk up his body, kissing his chest, his clavicle, his Adam’s apple. Then his lips.

Dean opened his mouth, hoping for a treat. Castiel chuckled, only able to lick at Dean’s mouth like some inquisitive feline. “I swallowed it all,” Castiel said, pressing his nose to Dean’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Dean hummed an amused note. “You’re hard as _fuck_ right now.”

“What can I say?” Castiel said, lifting his head, glancing down to see his erection straining up against his own hip. “Apparently I enjoy swallowing.”

Dean gazed at him through satisfied eyes. “Roll on your back. I wanna try somethin’.”

Castiel did as he was told, getting comfortable, his pillow under his head. He watched Dean lick his lips, reaching for his wand. Dean squinted at his wand for a moment, thinking. Then he put a hand on Castiel’s inner thigh, pushing his legs apart.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

“Trust me,” Dean said, meeting Castiel’s gaze with a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “This is gonna feel awesome.” With that, he placed the wand tip at the rim of Castiel’s anus, and said, very clearly, “ _Katharos. Illubrico_.”

Castiel cried out in alarm as an extremely wet _slidy_ sensation overtook him, seeping out of his anus. “Oh my— Dean!”

“Whoa,” Dean grinned. “Thank you, Eros.”

Castiel clenched his jaw. “You learned that from _Dragon Den_?”

“It works better when you’re doing it on other people,” Dean said, studiously. “Interesting.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. The wet feeling was dampening the sheets. “Please tell me this will wash out of cotton.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, rolling his lower lip under his teeth. He put his wand down without looking. He held Castiel’s eyes with a seductive determination, inching forward on the bed until he knelt before Castiel’s parted legs. “I’m gonna put my fingers in. You okay with that?”

Castiel stared at Dean for a moment. “Won’t it hurt?”

Dean shook his head. “Not if I go slow. But you gotta relax. And trust me.”

Castiel exhaled. “I trust you,” he said.

“Yeah?”

Castiel nodded. He licked his lips quickly, feeling Dean line his fingertips up with his slippery hole. “I don’t see how this could feel good, though,” Castiel said. He frowned as Dean slowly pushed a finger inside. “Oh-h... That’s... strange.”

“It’s weird the first time,” Dean agreed. His finger went deeper, stretching out Castiel’s tight muscle. “Damn. You’re freakin’ _hot_ inside, Cas.” He grinned when Castiel’s erection thumped his belly of its own accord. “Does this turn you on?”

Castiel felt his breath hitch, his muscles squeezing as Dean wriggled his finger gently. “I— I suppose it does?” Castiel said, before gasping. “Oh that’s... Mhh?” He stared at Dean in wonder. “You touched something...”

“Really?” Dean looked delighted. “I got your prostate on the first try? Holy shit.” He leaned further over Castiel, his flaccid cock hanging down between his thighs. “I’m gonna try another finger. Relax for me.”

Castiel took a deep breath, held it, then let it go. As he relaxed, he shut his eyes, and felt very aware of Dean being _inside_ him. He wondered if his own tongue inside Dean’s vagina had felt anything like this. It was fascinating.

“How’s that?” Dean asked.

“How’s what?” Castiel replied.

“Two fingers.”

Castiel lifted his head. “You put another one in? When?”

“When you breathed out,” Dean smiled. “You didn’t feel it, huh?”

“It— No.” Castiel blinked. “It’s very slick, I only feel it when you pull the muscle.”

“Like this?” Dean separated his two fingers, and Castiel grabbed a handful of the sheets, immediately tense. Dean stopped pushing, and Castiel relaxed, flopping down. Dean chuckled. “You should’ve seen your face just then,” he muttered. “I thought you were gonna come.”

“I think I was,” Castiel said interestedly, blinking at the daylight filtering through the enchanted window. “Nh... Dean...” Castiel felt a flash of sweat escape him, fever overwhelming him as Dean twisted those two probing fingers. “Deannn...”

“Relax,” Dean reminded him. “Just relax.”

Castiel gulped for air, doing his best to mimic the feeling he got in the moments before sleep: his lucid, skittering mind drifted away, replaced with a warm, buzzing blankness. It was peaceful and sunny and comforting, and all he smelled was Dean.

Then it all flooded back: Dean’s fingers in his ass, the damp bed littered with Dean’s broken hair, the heat of sunshine on Castiel’s mountain-peak knees. Dean stroked that wonderful place inside Castiel; Castiel reared up off the bed, weight on his heels. He heard a hard, shocked cry rip from his throat, and he felt hot come splattering his chest – and after another dazed moment, collapsing to the bed, hearing Dean’s laughter, Castiel realised it was over.

“You didn’t last long, did you?” Dean grinned, nosing Castiel’s ear. “Guess I found your sweet spot.”

“Buhh...” Castiel exhaled, turning his head so his nose pressed to Dean’s forehead. “Dean... Mhhhmm...”

“We’re doin’ this again tonight,” Dean promised, kissing Castiel’s upper lip. “Let’s see if I can actually get my dick inside you next time.”

Castiel peeked open one eye. “You want to fuck me?”

Dean shrugged playfully, rolling on top of Castiel and kissing him deeply. He smooched away, fingers stroking Castiel’s thick morning stubble. “I wanna do everything with you.”

Castiel considered that, and decided he quite liked the idea. He did truly want to have Dean be part of his life, in every way, through every activity. Sex was just the beginning.

Dean wet his lips with a push of his tongue, and he gave Castiel one last kiss before he rolled upright with a groan. “Ugh. Come on. Gotta get up.”

Sitting slumped at the side of the bed, Dean breathed deeply, then reached back and patted Castiel’s knee. “Are you coming to my class?” Dean checked the clock, then pushed himself to his feet. “Forty minutes. I don’t wanna be late.”

Castiel lay still for another sleepy moment, one hand over his eyes to block the bright sun. He listened to Dean in the bathroom, washing his hands clean before he used the toilet, then again after. When Dean shuffled back out of the bathroom, Castiel sat up at the side of the bed, leaning his weight over his thighs.

Dean smiled, ruffling Castiel’s hair as he went past. “You better come watch, at least,” Dean advised. “There’s gonna be, like, ninety kids there. I’ve never taught a class with more than thirty-five kids at once. You know, I had to extend my parchment with the list of names? _So_ many kids signed up for this. God. I dread to think how many of our students have never heard of flashcards for revision.”

“I hadn’t heard of flashcards until you told me,” Castiel said, watching Dean pull on a fresh pair of panties. His eyes tracked Dean as he wandered to the side of the room, where a line of potion vials stood on top of Castiel’s clothes drawers.

Castiel got up and crossed the room to join Dean, hands taking his waist. “You could teach as a woman,” Castiel said gently, kissing Dean’s neck. “Everyone saw you at the dance on Friday night. Even if someone missed the revealing moment, the whole school would’ve heard by now. If I know anything about the way salacious stories travel, there’ll be rumours aplenty, and they’ll all be different, but there’ll have one common theme.”

“Professor Dean Winchester’s a girl,” Dean said. He let Castiel kiss his neck some more, but he sighed. “I can deal with them knowing you and me are together. I bet there were rumours even before the dance. We can barely keep our hands off each other, and we stare at each other like... I don’t know what we’re like. People were bound to notice. But it’s... _this_...” Dean picked up a pink vial, sloshing the liquid inside. “I’m not ready to walk around in dresses yet, Cas.”

“Then don’t.” Castiel took the vial and put it down, then turned Dean around. He looked so worried, poor thing. Castiel kissed his forehead. “Go to your class dressed the way you would feel most comfortable. Waistcoat, pants, a skirt— Clothes aren’t gendered items, Dean. At least they shouldn’t be. Your panties aren’t _girl_ panties, they’re just panties. Your bra isn’t just for days you have larger breasts. You know that already.”

Dean swallowed, lowering his eyes. “The kids won’t see it that way. I show up in a blouse and lipstick and I’m a crossdresser. A dress and big hair, I’m a drag queen. With boobs and pants, I’m... I don’t know. The only teachers at this school who show up with boobs and pants are Professor Tran and Charlie.”

“Perhaps you could take a leaf out of their trees, then,” Castiel suggested.

Dean smirked. “Leaf outta their _books_ , Cas. Leaf outta their books.”

Castiel smiled back, cradling Dean’s hand up against his mouth, kissing it. “Look at this weekend class as turning a new leaf,” Castiel suggested. “New page of your book, new chapter. Ninety students are going to show up in the dining hall to find out how to learn efficiently. If you’re up to it, why not teach them about yourself, too? Your students love you, Dean. I’m sure they want to know.”

Dean drew Castiel in for a hug. Castiel squeezed him, skin to skin.

“You have half an hour,” Castiel said. “I’ll order your brunch for you. You just get what you need and show up on time.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, pulling back. “But, uh... I think I figured it out.”

“Oh?”

Dean nodded, going to get a bra out of the top drawer of Castiel’s cabinet. “Witchzard day. Bra and panties under a shirt’ll do me fine.”

Castiel patted Dean on the back, then helped him do up his bra. It was the white one with the pink bow.

“Will you be all right?” Castiel asked, turning Dean around again. “Ninety students is a lot to handle all at once. Especially after what happened on Friday night. Nobody but me has seen you since the ball, there’s bound to be a lot of questions...”

Dean leaned into kiss Castiel, holding the press for five... six...

Ten seconds.

Dean pulled back, smiling. “So long as I see your handsome face smiling from the bleachers, Cas, I’ll be fine.”

  
**☆**  
  



	22. Baloney Sandwich

Dean reached the entrance hall of the school, and he heard chatter coming from the Great Hall that ought to have set his spiked-up hair even more on end. There were definitely more than ninety students waiting for him. But he was emboldened by the knowledge that they’d all showed up to learn something he could teach them.

Dean reached the two doors to the Hall, and he saw Rinker the house elf standing by. “Hey,” Dean smiled.

“This is for you,” Rinker said, handing over a wrapped sandwich.

Dean took it. “Thanks. Have you seen Cas?”

“Inside,” Rinker said, cocking his head towards the doors. The sound of chatter was as loud as it usually was at dinner time. “If I may offer a word of warning, Master Winchester,” Rinker added, raising his tatty ears. “Don’t let the students control your classroom.”

“Psh,” Dean said, taking a big bite of his sandwich. “I gop this,” he mumbled, mouth full. “I b’n teachin’ nearly five years, I know wha’f U’m doin’.”

Rinker didn’t look convinced.

Dean swallowed his mouthful, his smile waning slightly. “I got this,” he said again. “I’ve planned this class to the detail, forwards and backwards. If I screw up...” He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

Rinker bowed his head, accepting Dean’s word over his own warning. But Dean couldn’t help but worry now.

Rinker lifted his hand, and with a click, he vanished.

Dean licked his lips, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then shouldered open the doors to the Great Hall. He strode in, confident for the first five steps.

The Hall was set up how he’d wanted it: the projector screen and chalkboard were arranged on the left, with the windows’ drapes pulled shut behind. On the right, the wooden bleacher stands rose nearly to the ceiling, packed with students. But, as he’d suspected, more than ninety students had shown up.

But it was _far_ more than ninety. There had to be more than two hundred faces looking at him.

The chatter died down. Soon the huge room fell silent.

Dean walked slowly to the stage under the chalkboard, eyes scouring the audience. It was fair to say, the entire school had turned out today. Including the teachers. Dean looked up to the back row, and he saw Sam and Charlie up there, standing on the staircase as there were no seats left. Professor Moseley and Professor D’Angel sat together, next to most of the other teachers. Gabriel and a handful of other ghosts glowed amongst living faces. Even the jellyfish ghost had showed up.

Dean looked towards the front row, and smiled weakly when he saw Castiel at the right-hand corner, sitting with both hands folded in his lap. Castiel lifted a hand to wave, but Dean could only twitch his hand in response. He felt frozen up, barely thawed by the time he reached the stage.

The room was hissing with quiet whispers now. Dean saw nobody’s mouth move, but he knew people were talking about him.

This was not the ambience of a normal lesson.

“Um,” Dean said. He couldn’t hear his own voice.

His eyes darted to Castiel, who was waving again. Castiel mimed pointing his wand at his throat, his mouth moving around the word of a spell.

“Oh,” Dean breathed, doing as Castiel suggested. “ _Sonorus_.”

He breathed in again, and his inhale seemed to echo. “Hi,” he said. His voice had been amplified by the spell, like he was talking into a microphone.

The whole room paid attention.

All of a sudden, Dean couldn’t quite remember what he was meant to be talking about. He blinked a few times, reaching into his open waistcoat and pulling out a folded parchment. He skim-read his notes, and exhaled in relief.

“Learning,” Dean said. He looked left, finding the desk from his own Charms classroom. He put his parchment down beside his sandwich, and he rested his fingers on the desk. “What is... learning? Um.”

He blinked a couple of times, kicking himself into gear. “Listen. I grew up in a Muggle environment. Homeless. Me and my brother Sam – or, as you know him, Professor Winchester the younger – we wandered between shelters, looking for food or beds for the night. Every night. _Every_ night, for years.

“Neither of us know what happened to our parents. My first memory is of my mom. Yellow room... warm hands. She’s reaching down to pick me up, singing to me. After then, I got nothing. Next thing I know, I’m six years old, living on the streets and doing my utmost to look after my two-year-old brother.”

Dean shut his eyes. “People cared for us. They tried to teach us. But the places we lived... they were not safe places. They were not loving places. We went to a boarding school for orphans. Then a halfway house – and they did religious classes every day, twice at the weekends. By the time I was eleven I knew plenty about Abrahamic sacrifice but I didn’t know how to tie my own shoelaces.”

A quiet murmur went through the audience.

“Me and Sam,” Dean went on, pacing the stage slowly, “we didn’t get a good education because nobody cared enough to pay attention. We were just dirty kids. In actual fact, what we learned was this: run away from help. People offering good things usually meant they had something bad in mind.”

Dean licked his lips, trying to focus on the streaks of sunlight through the Great Hall, focusing on the magic, not the dark and slimy memories that coated the backs of his eyelids, blinding him every time he blinked.

“I got my acceptance letter for Jinxes while I was sweeping the basement of some old guy’s house, trying to earn enough to pay for dinner.” Dean began to smile at the memory. “A phoenix dropped down the chimney and messed up what I’d sweeped. Just – _ploop!_ Soot everywhere. And I _freaked_ the hell out. I kid you not, I _screamed_.” Dean grinned when he heard a collective laugh.

“But this phoenix handed me a letter – and you can’t say no to that, can you? I sat on the hearth, and I read that letter twice over. Then again, because I wasn’t too good at reading back then. And I knew at that moment, that was it. My life was gonna go right for once. I’d take Sam and I’d be able to keep him safe from anything and anyone. This was my _chance_. My one chance.” Dean held up a firm finger. Then he smiled, and he let it fall. “And we made it.”

Nodding, he turned to the side and walked to the side of the stage. He shook his head, then turned back, pacing again. “I learned magic. Like, real magic. How to make things fly, how to make things disappear. How to communicate with freakin’ hippogriffs! You guys, you all know how amazing that stuff is.”

He beamed at all his students, hands on his hips, facing them. “But seriously,” he went on, “I was struggling in Potions, and History of Magic, and any subject that required significant brainwork, not just active movement, like Duelling. I didn’t know what a fraction was, I couldn’t spell anything longer than my name. I wasn’t unintelligent, okay, I just didn’t know how to do it. I believed then – and I still believe now – nobody is truly stupid. Everyone just learns different, and at different speeds, and in different ways. And they need the information available. Books, or teachers, or someone to mimic. But everyone who learns anything has one thing in common. They _want_ to learn. And I’m guessin’ y’all are here because you wanna learn something.”

Dean bumped his fists together once. “Look, I wish I knew everything,” he said, smirking. “But I don’t. Far from it. However, I know a ton about what I’m interested in, and that’s a few things. First... Cars.” He shrugged. “Why would you need that at wizard school? You probably won’t. But engineering goes hand-in-hand with math. I used to hate math! I look at numbers and I still get dizzy. I gotta count on my fingers or I screw up. It’s dead useful though. And I promise you, you’ll do better at Potions when you’re calculating your ingredients right.”

Dean felt like he was bursting with energy. He loved teaching more than almost anything, and the sense that overtook him now, with everyone listening to him – it was close to euphoric.

“I can teach you intermediate math,” Dean nodded, holding up a hand with his thumb and forefinger outstretched. “Spelling.” He lifted another finger. “Sex ed. Safe sex, gender equality? Yeah. C’mon! Anything I know, I wanna share it.” One more finger. “Tips and tricks for writing essays. God-dammit, you guys are awesome, but if I had a Knut for every convoluted _mess_ I had to spend my weekends marking, I’d be the richest teacher around.” He smirked, enjoying the nervous chuckle that echoed through the hall. Then he stretched out his pinkie. “And last but not least, Charms. All the stuff I couldn’t fit into this year’s syllabus.” He dropped his open hand, slapping it against his thigh. “It’s gonna be awesome. And since you’re all here, I figure we may as well jump right into our first lesson.

“So, uh. Some of you will have heard this before, because I tell this to anyone I see struggling. We wanna remember stuff, right? We don’t wanna be that guy – or girl, or... or-or-or person – who forgets birthdays, or song lyrics, or what the _hell_ you put that thing you were just carrying...” He smiled, glad that got a chuckle out of his audience. “And nobody likes forgetting the names of the people they meet. I gotta admit, I’m lookin’ at you all now, and I’m blanking on most of your names. There’s... heh. There’s a lot of you. Wow.”

He smiled, hearing a quiet hum of interest move through the room. The kids were perfectly aware how extraordinary it was that so many of them had showed up.

“Good news is, there’s plenty of fun, un-boring ways to remember things. Studying is one thing. Repeat-repeat-repeat. Practise makes perfect. We all hear that. But that sucks, and it’s frustrating, and time-consuming. I find the best way to remember _any_ thing is to learn it properly the first time around. Then when it comes to revision, all you gotta do is check you know it, not re-learn it.

“Now,” Dean began to pace, getting into his usual stride. “I asked you all to bring some food along. Raise your hand if you brought something.”

Nearly all the hands went up. Even the teachers’ hands at the back. Sam’s and Charlie’s went up. Castiel’s went up.

“Good,” Dean smiled. “Awesome. Now, how many of you brought something new, something you never ate before?”

Three-quarters of the hands in the Hall went up. Dean pushed his lips together. “Not bad,” he said. “I’ll tell you why I asked you to do that. But first: everyone take a bite. Big, huge bite. Go on.”

For a few seconds, the crowd didn’t move. Then they started to rustle, fiddling with packets and cartons. Dean grinned, and he picked up his sandwich, cramming a bite into his mouth. Lettuce and excess mustard clashed with olives and the slices of baloney, just how he didn’t like it. It wasn’t meant to be perfect, it was meant to prove his point.

After Dean had chewed through all the crusty bread in his mouth, thumping his fist on his chest to ease the mustard burn, he swallowed, blinking hard to push away the flash of tears brought on by the spice. “Good,” he wheezed, peering out at the kids who stared back.

He wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve again, then cleared his throat and explained, “Now, every time you eat that food again, you’ll remember this lesson. That’s the idea, anyway. Your senses are closely associated your memories. It works for anything. You smell perfume and you remember an old girlfriend; you smell a wet dog and you remember Old Yeller back home. You eat a puke-flavoured Bertie Bott’s Bean and you remember that time you were sick in your fifth year, and you remember why you never eat expired beef stroganoff out of a can.”

He grinned when he heard a few whines of “Ewww.”

“Eat a new food every time you have an experience you want to remember,” Dean said, putting his hands on his hips. “Or sniff a new scented candle. Drink herbal tea. My friend Cas—” Dean scratched his head, grinning over at Castiel. “Professor Goldkeeper. He’s, uh... He’s a big fan of stealing vinyl records outta my room – ‘cause it works for songs, too. He plays an album on repeat, over and over while he’s reading something, and he makes handwritten charts for what subject each album is linked to in his mind. Then he plays the record again, and it all comes back. Just like that. Led Zeppelin’s Greatest Hits gives him the history of Muggle warfare. _All the Bright and Happy Wizards_ : Magical Table of Elements. Boom.”

Dean grinned, stalking back to his desk. He picked up his sandwich, and he took another bite. “Of course, there’s always the other way. The hard way.” He chewed and swallowed, staring at his awful, heartburn-inducing sandwich. “Mistakes were made. Mm-hm.”

He looked up, biting off a tiny corner of his sandwich, then grimacing and putting the sandwich down. “When it comes to making mistakes – hey, we all do it. We screw up, something embarrassing, something annoying. Maybe it’s a bigger mistake. Who knows. But the thing is, we gotta pick ourselves back up, admit that, yeah, that didn’t go as planned. But like we shouldn’t kick other people when they’re down, don’t kick yourself. You know? Move past a mistake. And learn from it.”

Dean ran a hand over his mouth, thinking back two days, for a split-second reliving the agony of feeling his dress tearing off his own shoulders. His breath hitched, and he looked down. “Like, uh... Friday night. All of you were there, I guess you know what I’m talkin’ about. I miscalculated on a potion. The thing was meant to last twenty-five hours – I never accounted for the party overrunning past midnight. But you know what? I learned from that. Took the same potion again at nine-sixteen yesterday morning, and whaddya know, it wore off just in time for me to show up to class this Sunday.”

He looked up, gulping when he saw over two hundred pairs of eyes staring back. “It’s stuff like that,” he said quietly, knowing he was only audible because of the amplification charm. “If there’s anything you gotta learn, it’s how to bounce back. It seemed like a big mistake at the time, but if my night hadn’t screwed up that bad, if I hadn’t taken the risk in the first place, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to... uh...”

He frowned, scratching self-consciously at his stubble. “I— I don’t really... um...”

He heard a quiet cough.

Dean looked up. In the middle of the bleachers, three rows up, a student raised her hand. Caroline, Dean remembered.

Dean hesitated. But then he nodded. “Yeah.”

Caroline glanced around, the adjusted her glasses. “I think... all of us are wondering... It was you...? You in the green dress, wasn’t it?”

Dean’s lips parted, heart thudding. Quiet voices rushed through the hall, whispers and curious utterances.

Dean licked his lips again. “Yeah,” he croaked.

Another hand went up, and the fourth-year didn’t even wait for Dean to look at him before he asked, “Are you and Professor Goldkeeper dating?”

Dean stared. “Uhh.” He gulped, glancing to Castiel.

Castiel shrugged.

Dean looked back at the student and shrugged too. “Off the record? W-We’re, uh. An item. I guess. If that’s what you mean.” Dean glanced up at Professor Moseley, who peered at him all too knowingly. “To be honest,” Dean went on, “we’re not allowed. Me and Cas— Me and Professor Goldkeeper. Officially, we’re not allowed to see each other.”

“Is that why you went as a girl?” a first-year asked, cross-legged on the floor at the front of the bleachers. “So nobody would recognise you?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Partly.”

A dozen more hands shot up, and a dozen more questions were shouted out. The Great Hall got louder and louder, students bombarding Dean with personal queries.

Another hand went up, and Dean nodded to the kid. Mei, in her floating chair. “‘Sup?”

“You looked _super_ pretty.”

Giggles and whispers filled the hall. A few cheers of agreement followed. Then came a smattering of applause, which became a rush of happy voices and more applause – which became a pounding, _clamouring_ celebration.

Dean felt heat crawling up his neck. He looked along the rows of young faces, then up to the teachers, who wore the same keen expressions as the kids.

“Oh,” he said.

Just as he was about to speak, to say something, anything – he felt a warm hand on his arm. He looked up. Castiel was there.

Sam came into view behind Castiel. He had that supportive-younger-brother look in his eye.

Behind Sam was Charlie. She was eating a baloney and mustard sandwich, smiling reassuringly at Dean. “You all right?” she asked.

With a huff and a smile, Dean whipped his wand to cancel the amplification charm, then lowered his head. “I’m good,” he said. He reached down and took Castiel’s hand. “You guys are here. People are listening. I think I’m ready.”

“Sure?” Sam asked.

Dean swallowed. He looked from Sam, to Charlie, then to Castiel, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s about time these kids knew they had a bisexual, genderfluid teacher they can talk to, right?”

“Hell yeah, it is,” Charlie said. “Go get ‘em, tiger. We’re right beside you.” She winked.

Dean smirked, and he pushed off from the desk. “Yee-haw.”

  
**☆**  
  


Charlie entered the Fountain Room looking for Dean. He’d sent an enchanted origami bird to her classroom during today’s final period, which invited questions from her students – _Is it from Professor Moondoor? Is she your girlfriend?_ – but the class mumbled disappointment when she told them it was only Dean, making arrangements for after school.

On Friday night the Fountain Room had been large and daunting for the Valentine’s Day ball, now it was back to normal size. Big enough to impress, with the phoenix fountain once again dwarfing the view, but it was nothing so grand as a ballroom. The room rustled with leaves, a refreshing breeze through a summer greenhouse – and yes, there were still sparkles on the plants. The Missouri Everloves bloomed on, twisting through with the blush-red hearts of the Prince Cinderellas. Charlie smiled to herself, glad Professor D’Angel had thought to name the plants after another great love this room had celebrated.

Charlie rounded the fountain, and she spotted Dean sitting on the other side, his back to the water, his legs stretched out on the tiles. He laughed at something Castiel said. Castiel knelt on the marble before Dean, reading from a small, folded parchment.

“Hey, guys,” Charlie smiled. She lifted her hands as Moosh and Baby Batman flew to perch on each hand, and she went to sit next to Dean. “What’s up?”

“Cas was just reading out all the notes he got today,” Dean said, leaning back on his hands. He grinned, turning his face to the water. Reflections of golden ripples wobbled across his face, shining in his dewy eyes.

“Read some to me,” Charlie said, nudging Castiel’s leg with her boot. Moosh hopped up onto her shoulder, leaving one hand free so she could stroke Baby Batman.

“Alright,” Castiel said, then cleared his throat. “This one’s from Saskia. She’s a sixth-year now—”

“She’s had a crush on Cas since her first class,” Dean grinned. “Poor kid.”

“Aww,” Charlie said.

“Are you going to let me read this?” Castiel said, raising his eyebrows. He flipped the parchment straight, and Charlie noticed it had been exquisitely folded, and sealed with wax formed into a heart-shape.

Castiel took a breath and read, “‘ _Dear Professor. It’s no easy task for me to write this, and I hope you won’t mind the tear stains. I’ve loved you forever, but clearly it was not meant to be. I’m older now, and I’m mature enough to realise that it’s not me you’re interested in. I’ll do what’s best for both of us, and let you go. I hope you and Professor Dean are very happy together. Not yours any more, love, Saskia._ ’”

Dean snickered.

“Dean,” Charlie said, whacking Dean’s knee. “Don’t be mean. That was a very brave thing she did.”

“It’s funny when you realise there’s another eighteen of those letters,” Dean chuckled, lifting up a pile of fancy parchments he’d been keeping beside him. “Going by these, you’d think Cas was the hottest teacher on the planet.”

“Aren’t I?” Castiel asked innocently.

“Sure, if you’re into weird, dorky little angels,” Dean said. He smirked down at Castiel. “Which I totally am.”

Castiel beamed, and sat up to give Dean a kiss on the cheek – but Dean moved into it, and they kissed on the mouth.

Charlie laughed, holding a hand between her eyes and her friends. She peeked out, grinning at them as they sat back where they’d been before. “So,” Charlie smiled, “Any letters for you, Dean?”

Dean’s easygoing smile slipped a bit. “Yeah,” he said, hesitantly.

“Why do I get the feeling they’re not as cutesy as Castiel’s?” Charlie asked slowly.

Dean glanced her way, then down to his lap. He reached to his left and picked up an even larger stack of letters, these ones made of crisper paper, looking altogether more indignant.

“Is that a Howler?” Charlie said under her breath.

“Six Howlers,” Dean said quietly, running his finger along the paper edges. “Six Howlers, a lot of threats from angry parents, and one court summons from the Ministry. Apparently a few students wrote to their parents and the parents wrote to the Ministry, and I’m being called up on inappropriate behaviour in view of minors.”

Charlie spluttered, “Inappropriate—”

“Half my clothes fell off at the ball.” Dean mumbled. “And let’s face it, coming out as bi and genderfluid to two hundred people right after _that_ is gonna raise some questions from anyone who didn’t hear the whole story.”

“Professor Moseley won’t let anything happen to you,” Castiel said, touching Dean’s knee. “ _I_ won’t, either.”

“I know,” Dean said, nodding and frowning. “I know; I don’t feel like me or my job are in any danger, I just...” He clenched his lips together, hiding an emotional wobble. “One Howler’s bad enough, you know? But six on the first day is kind of overwhelming. I’m not really looking forward to tomorrow.”

“He had to cancel his final class today,” Castiel said quietly to Charlie. “Two Howlers arrived at once, and the previous class had already been ruined by the other four.”

Charlie reached over, handing Dean his familiar. Dean took Baby Batman and cuddled him under his chin, finding comfort in the creature’s soft neck fluff.

Charlie touched Dean’s shoulder, giving him a pat. “This’ll blow over soon,” she assured him. “The rumours die down, and as soon as that happens, the kids who’ve been desperate for someone to talk to, that’s when they’ll start coming to you.”

“Oh, that already happened,” Dean smiled. His eyes brightened, and he sat up a bit straighter. “I probably shouldn’t tell you their names, but there were a handful of sixth-years who came up to me just as everyone left my room for lunch. They said...” Dean smiled, head down. “They were real sweet about it. They said thanks for bein’ so brave, and thanks for giving them someone to sorta... represent them. They wanna start a Gender and Sexuality club for the Jinxes kids. Proper sex ed, human Transfiguration walkthroughs, peer support – stuff like that. They’re hoping I could front their mission.”

“Really?” Charlie gawped. “That’s amazing. What did you say?”

“I, uh...” Dean shrugged. “I volunteered you.” He looked up at Charlie, smiling. “I got my weekend Learning classes to think about, on top of Charms. You’ve taught only Flying for so long now, I figured you’d enjoy a bit more chaos in your life again.”

Charlie touched her heart, flattered by Dean’s gesture.

“But hey, maybe I’ll drop in every few sessions,” Dean shrugged. “I wanna be part of the movement whether I’m leading it or not. I wish I had that kind of thing at school, growing up.”

“Me too,” Castiel said, catching Moosh as she hopped off Charlie’s fingers and onto his own. “I needed information and support for all sorts of things.”

“You oughta start your own club, Cas,” Charlie suggested. “Maintaining Good Mental Health, and the Battle of Not Failing at Life, a weekly seminar by Professor Castiel Goldkeeper.”

Castiel hummed, nodding at Moosh. “Perhaps we could hold sessions outside on broomsticks.”

Dean leaned forward and clapped Castiel on the shoulder. “Buddy, I’d work on getting over my fear of flying just so I could come.”

Their eyes met, and they stared lovingly for a while.

Charlie smiled at them. “You two are adorable.”

“We _so_ are,” Dean said matter-of-factly, sitting straight again, tidying away the letters on his lap, putting them out of sight.

Charlie smiled wider – then the smiled faded, and she sighed, turning to look at the glistening water in the fountain. She reached to touch the surface. Cool droplets clung to her fingertips, a relieving, magical feeling.

Quietly, Charlie said, “I wish the students and their parents could just... accept you, and support you both. Like they did with me.” Dean stared at Charlie, and Charlie noticed, turning her head to stare back. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean smiled. “Just, that was...” He glanced at the fountain. “That was nice of you.”

Charlie raised her eyebrows.

Dean grinned, and explained, “I figured it out the other day. I figured out how the fountain works. It makes wishes come true.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But it’s never immediate,” Dean said. “Sometimes it takes years. But they do come true, so long as you wish for someone _else_. And you have to mean it, wholeheartedly. It’s the purest, most honest kind of love, you know?” Dean reached down and picked up Saskia’s letter to Castiel. He waved it. “Genuine selflessness.”

Charlie tipped her head. “Did you make a wish that came true?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned. “For years I was wishing... I’d look in the water and I’d wish to become a girl. Like, I didn’t know how to achieve that, but I wanted it so bad, and I’d wish for it. Nothing came of it, and I figured there was no real magic in the fountain.” He glanced at Castiel. “Didn’t stop me, though. Every few days for years, I wished for Cas to quit his autism-erasing potion – because I missed him. And I wished for Cas to realise how I felt about him, and I wished... ugh, so many things. All of them were because I wanted something for myself.

“But then I got so sick of seeing him sad, so sick of just... seeing him driving himself to madness with that crappy turquoise stuff. I wished he’d let go. Hell, I didn’t care if he spent hours with me every night. I just wanted to see him smile again, and know he wasn’t caged in like he always was. It was selfless, I guess. And that night he knocked me out cold with a baseball bat. Soon after that, he quit his potion.”

“And you count that as a wish coming true?” Castiel smiled. “Dean, I didn’t quit because of a wish coming true, I quit because after months of thinking and consideration, I finally reached a conclusion.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Dean asked. “Why can’t it be a beautiful, _magical_ coincidence? Come on, I know you’ve wished for things here. What wishes came true for you?”

Castiel was about to reply with scorn, but his expression lightened, and he shrugged. “I’ve wished for plenty of things for myself that eventually came true. Mostly that my autism would be cured so Dean would love me.”

“But that wasn’t—”

“It wasn’t how it happened, I know,” Castiel acknowledged. “I also wished you’d come to the ball with me. But now I’m thinking about it, all those wishes only came true because my one, most selfless wish came true. I, um...” He smiled down at Moosh. “I wished you’d let go of your burdens. All the things you refused to say. I’d see you holding back when me and Sam talked about books, and holding back when Charlie and I talked about clothes or sexuality or gender. Expression number forty-three: you want to smile but you’re worried people will think less of you for not being manly, or think less of you for understanding a certain gay joke.”

Charlie caught Dean’s eye, and she smiled. “It’s true. You do a little pouty-face, like you’re kissing something invisible, and you look down, and you look away.”

Dean sneered. “Nyeeh.”

“That burden-lifting wish of mine is still in the process of coming true, I suppose,” Castiel said. He kissed the top of Moosh’s head, then sent her fluttering off to perch on Dean’s shoulder. Moosh headbutted Dean’s cheek, delivering the kiss. Dean smiled.

“Yeah,” Dean said, still smirking. “Okay.” He sent a soft look in Castiel’s direction, then turned the same look on Charlie. “Anyway. You wished me ‘n Cas could be accepted and supported. I figure that’ll happen eventually, thanks to you.”

“It would’ve happened anyway,” Charlie assured him.

“Maybe it’ll happen faster now,” Castiel said. “Thank you, Charlie.”

Charlie shook her head. If it was a real wish, she didn’t want to jinx it by accepting credit. “Best I can do now is work to make your life easier for you. Starting by writing back to all those parents on your behalf, if you’ll let me.”

Dean snorted. “Have at it, sister.” He handed Charlie everything beside him, including the Howlers and the letter from the Ministry. “No way I wanted to do that myself.”

Charlie gave him a friendly pat on the arm, then tickled Baby Batman when he inched over onto her hand. “Heya, cutie.” She gave the bat a little noogie with a fingertip, grinning when he screeched.

Then, with a determined smile, Charlie stood up. “Well, I’d better start writing those replies already,” she said, sliding the bat back onto Dean’s shoulder.

“What, right now?” Dean complained. “You only just got here!”

“Hey, I’m trying to pull _your_ freckled ass outta the fire, Cinderella. You just enjoy your time with Cas. Fairy godsister Charlie’s got it all under control.”

Charlie leaned down and kissed the top of Dean’s head, then reached to ruffle Castiel’s hair. “Have a good evening. And an excellent night. Use protection!”

Castiel smiled, waving goodbye with spread fingers.

Charlie left slowly, taking the time to walk around the fountain and enjoy the peace that this room brought her. She watched the stone phoenix spitting water into the air, sparkling in bright candlelight. She listened to the harp-like trills of unseen birds, and she watched leaves flutter in waves.

When Dean and Castiel were almost out of sight, Charlie stopped. She watched them through the haze of water droplets, seeing Castiel move to sit beside Dean on the edge of the fountain. She heard Castiel laugh, and she saw Dean shove his face away, and Castiel bounced back, still laughing. Charlie beamed, always delighted by the sight of her friends acting all goofy around each other.

Charlie looked down at the letters in her hands. They were evidence that the rest of the world – or parts of it, at least – were not as appreciative of self-confidence and queer love as she was. And for a moment, Charlie wanted nothing more than for everyone to see what she saw, to understand what she understood about friendship, how it knew no bounds, and how it brought the most unlikely people together. She wished there was no hatred in the world. Instinctively, she knew she was already in the best position to make that dream come true. All that caused hatred was ignorance. Ignorance, misunderstanding, and a scarcity of resources. As a teacher, Charlie had the power to change that. As did Dean, and Castiel, and Sam.

Charlie looked up through the white mist of the fountain again. Dean and Castiel leaned against each other, speaking closely and privately. Charlie couldn’t see if they were smiling but she had no doubt they were.

Stepping closer to the fountain, Charlie bent at the waist, turning to sit at the fountain’s edge. She peered into the swirling shallow pool and she reached in, grazing her fingers through rainbow-coloured bubbles, churned up by the flow of the water. The bubbles snapped on her skin and vanished in a hiss, leaving her fingers free to twirl through the surface, trailing a wake of bright ripples.

Charlie wished for Dean and Castiel to be happy, and together for as long as they could be. So long as it was right for them, she wanted them to be together forever. Looking at them now, she was certain they would hold on. They had something truly remarkable. Maybe she didn’t even need to wish. Maybe it would’ve happened anyway.

Satisfied – and, to some extent, at peace – Charlie stood up and shook her hand dry. She turned away from the fountain, and with one deep, deep breath of gorgeous-smelling air inside her lungs, she left the Fountain Room behind.

  
**☆**  
  



	23. Epilogue

**{ EPILOGUE }  
**

The baseball collided with the moving bat, and Dean watched the white dot soar off into the blueness above the desert. “Oop, there it goes,” he uttered, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand.

“What’s your bet? Five minutes to find it?” Castiel asked, running his hand through the back of Dean’s hair.

“Two,” Dean said. “And Skink gets six runs.”

“I say eight runs,” Castiel agreed. “If I win, you make me dinner.”

“If I win...” Dean grinned. “Massage my feet.”

Castiel sighed.

“Hey, it was your bet,” Dean tutted, elbowing Castiel’s side. “And my feet are killing me. Not to mention my _back_.”

“Dean, you’re thirty-two, you’re not falling apart.”

“Speak for yourself, asshat. I found a grey hair the other day.”

“Where?” Castiel squinted.

“My nose.”

Castiel snorted a laugh.

Dean whacked Castiel’s arm, scowling at him. “Shut up.”

Castiel began to smile, and he shook his head, looking away. He took a deep breath, inhaling the muggy summer air, and he leaned back against the thick-trunked palo verde tree behind him. Shade was intermittent, as Dean and Castiel sat on the side where the breeze pushed the bushy chartreuse blossom back. Castiel had suggested a cooling charm, but Dean preferred the heat. Where Dean’s back pressed to Castiel’s chest, they seared hot, but they ignored it for the sake of closeness.

The silence was not silent. The desert sizzled with animal life, crickets and birds and snakes, and the soft whoosh of the wind over the plant-thick sand. The only space bare of plants was the area cleared up for baseball. Their games had migrated out of the quarry a few years ago, when they’d been in need of a change of scenery. It was nice up here, Dean thought. No clay walls, just endless desert, right up to the hazy purple mountains.

Up in the palo verde tree, Moosh and Baby Batman chased each other from branch to branch. Dean observed them for a while, musing that while he himself felt older every day, his and Castiel’s familiars acted like they were getting younger. The little animals played like children, and watching them gave Dean life.

Castiel hummed quietly, and Dean shut his eyes to listen. The low notes of Castiel’s drone melted into the distant shouts of house elves playing baseball with Sam and the Jinxes teachers. Amidst the scorching, clicking ambience, Dean sank into a comfortable snooze.

_Lay your heart down for me, baby;_   
_Magic sway, magic sway;_   
_These are the years which pass away..._

“Hey, Cas?”

“Hm?” Castiel stopped humming, waiting for Dean to speak.

Dean licked his lips, sitting up properly. He turned to look at Castiel, admiring the way the sun bounced off the sand and reflected against Castiel’s tanned face, making his eyes gleam like perfect blue gemstones. The skin below his eyes was hanging lower these days, and his face was wider than it had been in the past. Dean smiled, shaking his head. “It’s nothin’ really. I was just thinking about that song. Precious moments.”

Castiel tilted his head slightly. “And? What else?”

Dean grinned. “Ha. You know me too well.”

“I know you exactly the right amount,” Castiel countered.

Dean bit his lip, looking towards the active game. Skink was still running laps around the diamond, tapping each base with a bare foot as he passed. Nobody had found the ball among the scrubland yet.

“You ever think about what comes after this?” Dean asked, frowning slightly.

“You mean life after death?”

“No, life after... love.” Dean shrugged. “You and me have known each other – what, sixteen years now? Seventeen? Something like that. Been together twelve. I was just wondering...”

“Are you going to propose?” Castiel asked, grinning in amusement.

“Nah,” Dean laughed, shaking his head. “I was gonna break up with you.”

It had to be a great testament to their love that Castiel immediately understood that as a joke, and laughed so much that he fell against the tree, eyes shining as they crinkled up at the edges.

Dean grinned at him until he settled down. Their grins faded to smiles, and Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Twelve years is a long time, Cas. Just saying. Charlie and Gilda are happily married, Sam’s a fully-qualified Ministry-appointed handler, Missouri and Joshua threw their hearts into cultivating that magical garden for the school— But what are we? What are you and me doing with our lives?”

“Usually people ask that question of themselves, not including another party,” Castiel noted.

“You and me are a single entity,” Dean said, waving a hand. He saw Sam catch the ball an elf threw him, and Skink’s turn was finally over. Dean checked his twenty-five-year-old digital wristwatch, and he smiled dully. “Five minutes; you win the bet. I wasn’t counting the runs.”

“Nine runs. I still win.”

“Dammit.”

“I’m still going to massage your feet, though. After you make me dinner.”

“Awesome.”

Castiel beamed, stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair again. Then he rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder, arm curled around his back. With his other hand, Castiel loosened a button on his own half-open shirt, letting more air wash against his chest.

They shared a few moments of silence, watching Missouri stroll up to the batting plate. She pushed up her sleeves and got into position, one hand lifting the rim of her baseball cap. “Ready!” she shouted, and Sam pitched her a fast ball.

“One minute, three runs,” Dean said.

Castiel smacked his lips. “No bet. You’re probably right.”

Dean blew a raspberry.

“What do you want to be doing in five years?” Castiel asked, patting Dean’s shoulder. “Still teaching?”

Dean pondered. “Dunno. I can’t imagine doing anything else,” he admitted. “I wanna travel, and I wanna fix up the car like I do on my days off. If I think about giving up teaching for good, it just makes me _sad_.” He sighed. “In five years, I’ll probably still be teaching. Yeah.” He looked over at Castiel. “You?”

Castiel raised and lowered a shoulder. “I’ll go where you go.”

Dean smiled, but he nosed towards Castiel, urging. “If I wasn’t relevant, what would you want?”

Castiel took a deep breath, eyes turning to the sky through the tree’s whispering blossom. “I think I might want a family.”

“Family?” Dean frowned. “Cas, you already got family. It’s right there. Oh, hey, look at that— One minute, three runs. We both win.”

“No, I mean children,” Castiel said. “Baby witches and wizards. Perhaps Muggles or squibs, I don’t mind.”

Dean’s blank feeling slowly became a hopeful, excited, nervous one. “You want kids...”

Castiel wet his lips with his tongue, unable to look at Dean. “I’ve helped a lot of children in my time at the school. I’ve seen them grow from lost sheep into complete people, and I’ve done my part to assist in that transformation. There’s nothing more rewarding than that.”

“Yeah, but teaching high school Potions and raising babies is— Cas, those things aren’t the same.”

“I know,” Castiel said firmly. He still wouldn’t look at Dean. “And yet I can’t shake the idea.”

Dean dazedly watched Missouri hit another ball and take off running from base to base, while the house elves and other teachers sprinted to find the missing projectile in the undergrowth.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” Castiel said quietly. “And I’m not saying I _should_ become a parent, or that I will. You asked what I see myself doing, and that’s what I see myself doing.”

Dean blinked low, watching Castiel’s free hand. His forearm was steady on his leg, his wrist dangling from his knee.

“Do you...” Dean inhaled, blinking a few times. “Do you see me in the picture? Am I with you and your kids?”

This time Castiel did meet his eye. He smiled. “Dean, of course.”

Dean exhaled, grinning into his bottom lip as he looked towards the baseball pitch. “Cool.”

Dean felt Castiel’s eyes on him for a while. Dean pretended he didn’t notice.

“Do you want children?” Castiel asked, eventually.

Dean smiled, unable to hide his eagerness. He grinned at his lap, nodding. “Kinda. Yeah.”

“Do you think we should?”

Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes, sensing that earnest and straightforward question just looming there between them, awaiting an answer.

Dean’s heart flipped in his chest. “I, uh... I figure I could do it.” He shrugged, scratching his forehead bashfully. “I was stuck as a dude for years, not able to become a girl. Guess it wouldn’t be too bad, being a girl for nine months. Wizard days can suck it, so long as we can get a baby out of me.”

Castiel stared. “You’re— Dean, you were prepared to do that?!”

“What do you mean, _were_? I still am, Cas. I have a uterus, don’t I?” Dean grinned. “Or half the time, at least. I may as well.”

“But—” Castiel seemed flustered, looking around, running a hand over his mouth.

Dean started to frown. That wasn’t the joyful enthusiasm he’d expected from Castiel. “What?” Dean asked. “What’s wrong with that idea?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said, far too hastily. “I just—” He swallowed, and he calmed down, staring at Dean’s dusty boots. “I expected us to _adopt_ children, that’s all. I never considered that you’d rather give birth.”

Dean’s lips parted. “Oh.”

“You and I both grew up without parents,” Castiel said, his voice quiet now. “Orphans.” He frowned sadly. “Sam abandoned his original career path in order to pursue a career in childcare, looking after children like you and me and him. Young wizards without homes or loving families. I respect that a great deal, Dean.”

They looked at each other slowly, considering the other’s emotions in detail. Just by the way he’d spoken, Dean could determine that Castiel cared very much about what he said. But his face? His face said this subject was the only thing he could think about sometimes. Dean couldn’t believe it had taken the two of them so long to breach the topic.

“You wanna adopt kids,” Dean said, words little more than a breath. “You wanna adopt orphaned magical kids and raise them – together? You and me.”

Castiel inclined his head, smiling slightly. “Perhaps not for a few years. But yes.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Not for a few years? Why? What do you wanna do in the meantime?”

“Whatever you like. You said you wanted to travel and fix cars. We have a car, and it sometimes needs fixing. Yes? And every vacation we go somewhere new, but we never leave America. Perhaps next time we could Apparate abroad. I hear there are interesting covens in Europe, or the Far East.”

Dean smiled lopsidedly, still rather stunned by all of this.

Castiel cocked an eyebrow. “Does any of this appeal to you, or am I just pitching to an empty field?”

Dean laughed. “Look at that, a baseball metaphor! Damn, Cas, you’re really going pro at the whole colloquial speech thing.”

Castiel smiled, eyes twinkling. “Well?”

Dean bit his lip and nodded, sinking against Castiel again, happy when Castiel hugged him closer.

“Five years,” Dean said. “See the world. Fix cars. Then adopt some orphans and settle down with you? Hmm.”

“Please say yes.”

“On one condition,” Dean said, raising a finger. “We build a tiny cottage in walking distance of the school. Cute magical garden, couple of bedrooms, tank full of goldfish.”

Castiel huffed, kissing Dean’s cheek. “Okay.”

“Okay? Then, hell yeah. Done. It’s a deal.” Dean smirked. “Mm. You know what? Not too shabby, Cas.”

Castiel chuckled, resting his cheek against the top of Dean’s head. He breathed in slowly, and Dean imagined he shut his eyes as he breathed out.

Then Castiel laughed.

“What?” Dean asked, already grinning.

“I was about to say that you smell like jasmine,” Castiel said. “But then I realised I know that smell so well that, at this point, jasmine smells like _you_.”

Dean pulled out his wand, running his thumb over the flowers carved into the willow wood. With a swift wave of his wand and a silent spell, Dean showered Castiel with fresh jasmine flowers. Some landed on Dean’s crumpled shirt, and he picked one up, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. Offering it back over his shoulder, he waited until Castiel took it.

“A token of promise, let’s say,” Dean smiled. He lifted his head and turned, wanting to meet Castiel’s eyes. He found him sniffing the jasmine flower, while more scatters of white flowers sat sprinkled in his messy hair. “You better hold me at my word, Cas. Five years.”

“Five years,” Castiel agreed. He leaned in and kissed Dean, each tilting their heads. Stubble prickled at Dean’s lip, so familiar that he barely noticed. Castiel took Dean’s waist and rocked him closer, so again he lay on Castiel’s chest, sheltered in his arms.

Dean rested his cheek against Castiel’s neck, nose tucked under Castiel’s throat. He set half-open eyes on the baseball game again. Sam was still pitching, while Charlie prepared to bat. Right now Castiel’s scent was all around, mixed with dirt and sweat and jasmine, and Dean hoped the smell would forever remind him of this lazy summer afternoon, lying peacefully in Castiel’s embrace.

Castiel began to sing softly, his fingers twirling playfully through Dean’s hair. “ _Don’t let this sparkling moment go, my love... Let our magic sway, ma-a-agic sway. Won’t let this moment pass... We won’t let this moment go, my love – for you and I were made to last._ ”  


**{ the end }**

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had a good time reading this! It’s been a while since I’ve posted Destiel, but there’s [SO MUCH MORE where this came from](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=27&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi).
> 
> This last year I’ve been finding it easier to explore similar themes in [Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Garak/Bashir fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=8474&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi), so if you’re at all interested in that, there’s a growing collection. c:  
> ([I also semi-canonised the ship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073979) 20 years after the show ended. Still can’t believe that happened.)
> 
> And I wrote a bunch of [Good Omens fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=114591&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi)... recently-ish? Time is meaningless these days.
> 
> Wishing a Fountain Room wish for you all: may you be safe in this world, loved by those around you, whether in person or online, and may you find joy when you most need it.
> 
> Elmie x
> 
> ☆ [tumblr](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/)  
> ☆ [twitter](https://twitter.com/almaasi/)


End file.
